THE 

LEGATEE 

ALICE 

PRESCOTT 

SMITH 


THE  LEGATEE 


THE    LEGATEE 

By  ALICE    PKESCOTT    SMITH 


;jBliA~ir 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 


BOSTON   AND   NEW  YORK 

HOUGHTON,  MIFFLIN  AND  COMPANY 


1903 


COPYRIGHT,   1903,  BY  ALICE   PRESCOTT   SMITH 
ALL    RIGHTS    RESERVED 

Published  March,  igoj 


TO  MY 
MOTHER  AND  FATHER 


O 


CONTENTS 

CHAP.  PAGE 

I.  THE  LEGACY „        .  1 

II.  BEHIND  THE  RED  GERANIUMS  ....  13 

III.  "  WHAT  DOTH  IT  PROFIT  ?  "  .        .        .        .  24 

IV.  THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  BLUFF      ....  31 
V.   THE  GAME  OF  CHESS 41 

VI.  WHILE  THE  SUN  SHONE 56 

VII.  THE  POT  OF  GOLD 67 

VIII.   A  BRIDGE  is  CROSSED 80 

IX.  WHILE  THE  PENDULUM  WAS  SWINGING        .  92 

X.  MISTRESS  QUIXOTE 99 

XL  THE  INITIAL  MOVE 107 

XII.  WHERE  JESSIE  REIGNED 120 

XIII.  THE  KERMESS 128 

XIV.  AN  AWAKENING 139 

XV.    "  NEED  A  BODY  CRY  ?"        ....  149 

XVI.   THE  DEBUT  OF  LADY  PATRICIA       .        .        .158 

XVII.  A  WINTER  BLOSSOMING         ....  171 

XVIII.   THE  GATE  is  BARRED 180 

XIX.  AN  IMPULSE  ? 186 

XX.  THE  MASK  OF  DUTY 195 

XXI.   THE  PROMISE 203 

XXII.  ON  THE  LIGHTHOUSE  TRAIL     .        .        .        .  217 

XXIII.  MR.  PROCTOR  SPEAKS 234 

XXIV.  NEW  FACETS 245 

XXV.  CROSS-CURRENTS "258 

XXVI.  DAY  BY  DAY 268 

XXVII.  THE  WAITING 280 

XXVIII.  THE  COMING 292 

XXIX.  THE  RECOMPENSE  ......  301 

XXX.  THE  MEASURE 305 

XXXI.  THE  PROMISE  OF  THE  COVENANT         .        .  313 

XXXII.  STEWARDS  OF  THE  MYSTERIES  ....  319 


THE  LEGATEE 


CHAPTER   I 

THE    LEGACY 
" '  Rescue  the  perishing,  care  for  the  dying,'  " 

rose  the  voices,  Karen  Torstenson's  above  them  all., 
sweetly  insistent  and  compelling; 

"  '  Snatch  them  in  pity  from  sin  and  the  grave.'  " 

Karen's  voice,  which  had  held  the  pitying  ca 
dence  of  a  mother's  croon,  rose  now  in  triumphant 
acclaim,  and  the  choir  followed  blindly,  dragging 
with  jubilant  abandon  several  notes  behind  the 
creaking  cabinet  organ.  Karen's  leadership  was 
proved  and  trusted  ;  the  organ  was  an  innovation, 
and  the  end  of  its  probation  was  not  yet. 

The  Wilsonport  Methodist  Church  was  crowded, 
despite  the  rain  slapping  against  the  windows,  and 
the  wind  and  fog  rushing  in  from  Lake  Michigan. 
It  was  Olive  Black's  wedding  day,  and  weddings 
like  this  were  events  in  Wilsonport. 

" '  Down  in  the  human  heart,  crushed  by  the  tempter, 
Feelings  lie  buried  that  grace  can  restore.'  " 

pleaded  the  chorus  as   the  bridal  party  dropped 


2  THE  LEGATEE 

their  wet  wraps,  and  came  awkwardly  up  the  aisle. 
But  one  face  in  the  audience  smiled.  Not  that 
the  subtleties  of  humor  were  necessarily  unknown 
in  Wilsonport,  but  there  was  little  that  called  for 
laughter  in  the  fact  that  the  organist  could  play 
only  the  hymns  that  she  knew. 

The  two  young  people,  stumbling  noisily  on  the 
uncarpeted  floor,  stopped  in  front  of  the  bare  box 
pulpit  where  the  clergyman  stood  waiting.  There 
was  but  one  touch  of  adornment  in  the  room,  — 
"  Feed  my  Lambs."  The  text,  its  letters  made  of 
yellowing  cedar  twigs,  formed  a  half  circle  back 
of  the  clergyman's  head  —  a  halo  that  might  well 
have  disquieted  his  congregation,  for  the  winds  of 
many  months  had  robbed  the  sentence  of  its  final 
"  s,"  so  that  the  mandate  read  with  definite  and 
unsoftened  protest,  a  suggestive  frame  for  the 
pinched  face  below. 

In  the  rear  of  the  room  Kobert  Proctor  stood 
watching  observantly.  His  isolation,  his  manner, 
the  very  seams  of  his  coat,  bespoke  him  an  alien  ; 
the  unconscious  amusement  in  his  eyes  marked 
him  yet  more  as  one.  But  apart  from  the  fleet 
ing  thought  of  the  moment,  he  was  not  amused. 
He  was  the  new  owner  of  the  Wilsonport  Lumber 
Company's  mill,  and  this  was  his  superintendent's 
wedding  ;  yet  though  he  had  come  to  Wilsonport 
only  the  day  before,  no  glance  now  made  him  wel 
come.  Indeed,  the  only  look  that  had  shown  re 
cognition  of  his  presence  had  held  rebuke.  His 
smile  at  the  wail  of  the  wedding  march  had  been 
detected,  and  the  scorn  in  the  gray  eyes  that  had 


THE  LEGACY  3 

fronted  his  was  unpleasant  to  remember.  That 
the  eyes  belonged  to  one  of  the  most  youthful  of 
the  congregation,  a  young  girl  with  a  thin  eager 
face  and  flying  hair,  did  not  affect  his  point  of 
view.  He  was  self-convicted  of  his  rudeness. 

"  Do  you,  Olive,  take  this  man  "  —  The  cler 
gyman's  voice  was  searching,  for  he  had  seen 
many  go  away  from  his  presence  man  and  wife, 
and  they  had  not  always  gone  to  happiness ;  but 
the  girl's  "  I  do  "  thrilled  confident  and  joyous. 
The  challenge  of  her  happiness  sobered  the  lis 
teners.  Fate  punished  those  who  dared  to  claim 
such  perfect  joy. 

The  service  was  over,  and  again  came  Karen's 
voice.  Clarion  clear  it  sounded  in  the  hushed 
room,  — 

"  '  He  leadeth  me  !     Oh,  blessed  thought, 

Oh,  Words  with  heavenly  comfort  fraught ! '  " 

The  people  needed  no  organ  now,  they  heeded 
none,  and  they  arose  and  sang ;  sang  with  rough, 
uneven  voices  ;  sang  out  of  the  gray  monotony  of 
tired  hearts,  — 

"  *  Whate'er  I  do,  where'er  I  be, 

Still  't  is  God's  hand  that  leadeth  me.'  " 

Lines  faded  in  tense  faces,  and  eyes  dimmed. 
They  needed  leading.  For  most  of  them  life  was 
tangled  and  perplexing,  crowded  with  care.  But 
for  the  time  they  had  forgotten,  and  so  they  sang. 
They  sang  for  Olive,  and  for  her  husband,  George 
Cole.  These  two  belonged  to  Wilsonport  as  did 
the  great  pines  ;  therefore  the  people  loved  them. 


4  THE  LEGATEE 

and  crowding  about  them  now,  they  tried  to  tell 
them  so. 

There  were  none  to  crowd  toward  Mr.  Proctor. 
It  was  an  untried  sensation  for  this  man  to  find 
himself  upon  the  fringe  of  events,  and  to  his  sur 
prised  chagrin  the  feeling  annoyed  him.  He 
turned  to  look  again  at  the  girl  who  had  resented 
his  smile,  but  she  had  disappeared.  He  remem 
bered  that  she  had  worn  a  red  cap.  He  would 
know  her  by  that,  he  thought,  and  speak  to  her  if 
occasion  offered.  The  justice  of  her  arraignment 
still  rankled. 

"  *  He  leadeth  me,  He  leadeth  me ! ' " 

The  refrain,  carrying  the  vibrant  sweetness  of 
Karen's  voice,  stayed  in  his  ears,  and  he  looked 
across  the  room  to  where  she  stood,  taller  than  the 
women  around  her,  the  yellow  masses  of  her  hair 
glinting  even  in  the  dull  light. 

"  A  viking  princess,"  he  said  under  his  breath, 
"  and  what  a  voice !  "  But  the  princess  was  not 
for  him.  There  was  none  of  it  for  him  —  as  yet 
—  and  he  turned  away  into  the  rain.  The  rap 
ture  in  the  bride's  face,  the  sense  of  homely  joys 
and  comradeship  that  had  ennobled  the  crude  in 
congruities  of  the  day,  passed  him  by.  He  was 
outside  it  all. 

He  walked  toward  his  mill,  with  dogged  dis 
comfort  ignoring  the  rain.  The  village  looked  de 
serted,  and  its  small,  unpainted  houses  stood  drip 
ping  and  lonely  among  the  blackened  stumps  of 
the  clearing.  Before  him,  Lake  Michigan,  a  roll- 


THE  LEGACY  5 

ing  mass  of  sullen  gray,  merged  without  horizon 
line  into  the  leaden  sky  above.  Behind,  so  near 
that  the  scattered  houses  of  the  settlement  seemed 
clinging  to  the  narrow  beach  for  refuge,  lay  the 
forest,  black  and  forbidding  in  the  storm. 

The  man  threw  back  his  head  impatiently.  He 
had  not  supposed  that  his  moods  were  dependent 
either  on  the  barometer  or  on  the  liking  of  the 
people  about  him.  Manifestly  his  coming  had 
bred  constraint.  He  must  conquer  that.  In  all 
probability,  years  of  his  life  lay  before  him  in  this 
village,  and  since  he  could  not  occupy  a  pinnacle 
indefinitely,  it  behooved  him  to  dismount  while  he 
could  accomplish  the  descent  with  grace. 

The  mill  was  deserted  in  honor  of  the  super 
intendent's  wedding,  and  Mr.  Proctor  walked 
through  its  reverberating  passages  with  a  sense  of 
rising  independence.  His  own  mill,  his  own  ma 
chinery  !  Pride  of  ownership  had  worked  into 
his  consciousness  but  slowly ;  it  came  now  with  an 
alluring  flavor.  The  long  lines  of  belting,  the 
glitter  of  the  great  saws,  gave  him  an  exultant 
sense  of  mastery.  Powerful  as  they  were,  their 
power  was  yet  his,  his  to  control.  He  smiled  as 
he  realized  how  these  material  properties  com 
forted  his  vanity.  It  was  not,  at  this  moment, 
that  they  represented  money,  but  that  they  were 
all  that  needed  him,  that  claimed  him,  in  this  alien 
land. 

He  walked  to  the  top  of  the  log-slide,  and 
looked  out.  The  mill  was  on  the  beach,  and  the 
shallow  crescent  of  the  bay  lay  before  him.  The 


6  THE  LEGATEE 

rain  had  ceased,  but  the  wind  blew  furiously,  and 
the  surf  rolled  in  with  a  boom  of  crashing  break 
ers.  The  sand  was  as  empty  of  life  as  a  desert, 
and  the  man  looked  at  it  with  longing.  The  elec 
tricity  of  the  wind  was  in  his  blood.  What  a 
track  that  beach  would  make !  In  a  moment  he 
was  on  it,  the  wet  sand  springing  under  his  run 
ning  feet.  Convention  snatched  at  him  fiercely  as 
he  ran,  but  he  threw  her  off,  and  sped  with  bound 
ing  pulse.  Should  he  be  seen  —  why,  he  was  run 
ning  to  the  pier  !  It  was  his  pier,  and  in  danger 
from  the  storm !  therefore  he  ran.  That  would  do 
as  explanation  were  he  catechised.  There  was  that 
in  the  air  of  Wilsonport  that  taught  him  the  ever- 
boding  imminence  of  catechism. 

As  he  reached  the  pier,  his  pace  slackened. 
Two  figures  were  racing  toward  him,  balancing 
surely  on  the  pier's  shaking  timbers.  What  mat 
ter  if  they  had  seen  him  ?  They,  too,  were  run 
ning,  and  doing  it  right  well.  He  watched  them 
with  approval.  They  were  boy  ami  girl,  and  the 
girl  wore  a  red  cap.  It  was,  he  could  see,  his  red- 
capped  critic  of  the  wedding.  Here  was  his  op 
portunity. 

The  runners  were  absorbed,  and  did  not  see  Mr. 
Proctor.  The  girl  was  running  with  tight-pressed 
lips ;  she  was  losing,  but  not,  it  was  plain,  for  lack 
of  effort.  She  stopped  at  the  end  of  the  pier,  her 
hand  pressed  to  her  side,  her  forehead  clearing. 

"  You  Ve  won,  Adrien,"  —  there  was  a  some 
what  disproportionate  admiration  in  her  voice,  — 
"  but  —  Let 's  try  it  again  from  here  to  the  mill." 


THE  LEGACY  7 

She  was  starting  without  waiting  for  reply  when 
she  saw  Mr.  Proctor.  Her  arrested  breath  showed 
her  surprise. 

Mr.  Proctor  stepped  forward,  but  the  kindly 
greeting  that  he  had  in  mind  was  not  forthcoming. 
The  girl  was  older  than  he  had  thought,  and  her 
gray  eyes,  again  unfriendly  and  reproving,  scat 
tered  speech.  What  was  the  meaning  of  all  this 
fiery  defiance  ? 

She  turned  to  her  companion, 

"  There  's  father,  Adrien.  I  '11  leave  you  now, 
and  go  home  with  him."  She  vanished  even  with 
her  words,  and  Mr.  Proctor  smiled  after  her. 
Evidently  to  think  was  to  act  with  this  whirlwind 
apparition. 

The  boy  did  not  share  the  man's  smile.  The 
portentous  dignity  that  strives  to  hide  embarrass 
ment  wrapped  him  in  sombre  folds. 

"  A  great  storm,  is  n't  it  ?  "  the  man  said  with 
insistent  cheerfulness.  This  gloom  of  reserve 
piqued  his  curiosity. 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  grand  storm.  I  am  just  going." 
The  boy  spoke  with  punctiliously  clear  enuncia 
tion,  yet  a  slight  accent  clung  to  his  carefully 
chosen  words. 

The  man  turned.  "  I  '11  walk  with  you.  I  am 
a  stranger  here.  I  came  "  — 

"  You  came  yesterday  on  the  Lurline,  Mr.  Proc 
tor.  Everybody  in  town  knows  that." 

The  man's  eyebrows  shifted  a  shade  from  the 
horizontal.  "  Fame,  verily  !  I  should  n't  have 
suspected  it  from  my  reception  this  afternoon. 
And  your  name  ?  " 


8  THE  LEGATEE 

The  boy  was  silent  a  moment,  his  grave  young 
face  set  with  the  pallid  fixity  of  ivory.  "  Adrien 
Lauzeone,"  he  said  with  grudging  deliberation. 
"  My  father  is  Xavier  Lauzeone.  He  keeps  the 
hotel  — '  The  Farmer's  Friend/  It 's  a  saloon, 
too,"  he  added  defiantly. 

"  I  remember.  I  was  told  that  my  men  stayed 
there  —  some  of  them.  I  did  n't  see  you  at  the 
wedding." 

The  boy's  face  melted  to  curving  lines.  This 
was  the  way  men  talked  to  equals.  Perhaps  the 
"  Farmer's  Friend  "  was  not  a  stigma  after  all. 

"  How  was  the  wedding  ?  "  he  asked.  "  Was 
the  church  full?" 

"  Yes,  crowded.     You  were  not  there  ?  r' 

"  I  am  a  Catholic."  The  boy's  tone  held  a  touch 
of  impatience.  It  was  plain  that  this  prosperous 
outsider  had  much  to  learn. 

"  Oh ! "  said  Mr.  Proctor,  vaguely  aware  of 
quicksands.  "  But  your  friend  was  there.  Who 
is  she,  and  who  is  your  Norse  princess  ?  I  wish 
that  you  would  tell  me  about  the  people  here.  The 
singer  this  afternoon  was  a  very  daughter  of  the 
Eddas,  who  "  - 

"  I  don't  understand  what  you  're  saying,"  in 
terrupted  the  boy,  —  his  hurried  speech  suggested 
that  he  wished  a  change  of  subject,  —  "  but  I  will 
some  day.  No  one  here  would  understand  you  — 
no  one  but  Katherine  Edmister.  Katherine  talks 
the  same  way  —  and  Dr.  Edmister,  too." 

"  I  doubt  that  I  understood  myself,"  said  Proc 
tor  lightly.  There  was  no  need  to  emphasize  his 


THE  LEGACY  9 

awkwardness  by  explanation.  "  In  my  mother 
tongue,  then,  who  was  the  tall  girl  who  sang  ?  She 
had  a  voice  like  dripping  honey." 

"  Dripping  honey,"  pondered  the  boy.  "  That  ?s 
just  like  Karen.  You  must  know  Karen  Torsten- 
son ;  they  keep  the  store." 

"The  store?"  Yes,  he  recalled  it.  "'Dry 
Goods  and  General  Merchandise.  Ole  Torsten- 
son.' '  It  was  the  mill  store,  and  he  had  been 
there  that  morning.  He  felt  a  gentle  glow  of  plea 
sure  that  he  was  connected,  even  remotely,  with  its 
display  of  plough  and  crockery,  if  those  utensils 
ministered  to  the  well-being  of  the  day's  goddess. 

Young  Lauzeone  looked  curious,  and  the  man 
was  pricked  from  his  reverie  by  the  pressing  neces 
sity  of  sustaining  the  conversation. 

"  Who  was  the  lamb  ?  "  he  ventured  wildly.  It 
was  difficult  to  keep  his  auditor  in  mind,  when  his 
thoughts  were  struggling  with  chaotic  impressions 
of  the  grimy  interior  of  Ole  Torstenson's  store. 

"The  lamb?" 

"  The  clergyman,  I  mean.  Protestants  call  them 
lambs  sometimes,"  he  added  with  ready  mendacity. 
"  Never  mind,  I  'm  not  so  much  interested  in  him. 
Who  was  it  that  you  said  talked  as  I  do  ?  " 

The  boy's  eyes  shifted.    He  looked  embarrassed. 

"  I  guess  you  mean  Dr.  Edmister,"  he  said  eva 
sively.  "  He 's  the  doctor  here.  He  lives  up  on 
the  bluff." 

"  In  the  big  log  house  hanging  over  the  water  ?  " 

"  He  wanted  it  made  of  logs,"  the  boy  protested. 
"  He  's  rich  enough  to  have  a  better  house.  He 


10  THE  LEGATEE 

likes  log  houses."  The  hopelessness  of  impressing 
his  auditor  with  so  palpable  an  absurdity  saddened 
his  tone. 

"  Does  he  ?  "  Here,  then,  was  something  that 
augured  promise  for  the  future,  and  Mr.  Proctor 
looked  expectantly  down  the  curve  of  the  beach  to 
where  a  brown  lichen  of  a  house  clung  to  the  cliff 
that  tipped  the  southern  horn  of  the  harbor's  cres 
cent.  "And  his  wife?" 

The  wind  tossed  the  black  strands  of  the  boy's 
hair  into  his  eyes.  "  He  has  n't  any  wife.  She  's 
dead.  I  said  his  girl  —  his  daughter,  I  mean," 
he  corrected.  "  Mrs.  Green  keeps  house  for  him 
—  that  is,  her  and  Ephraim  does.  Ephraim  's  her 
husband." 

They  had  reached  the  office  door  of  the  mill,  and 
Mr.  Proctor  .stopped  and  studied  the  figure  before 
him. 

"  It 's  too  windy  to  go  farther  now,"  he  said, 
"  but  come  to  see  me.  I  live  in  the  house  that  was 
my  uncle's  —  back  of  the  lumber  piles.  No  wonder 
that  you  didn't  understand  my  stupidly  long  words. 
But  I  've  a  book  that  will  tell  you  what  I  was  talk 
ing  about.  Would  you  like  to  read  it  ?  " 

The  boy's  pleasure  appeared  in  his  eyes,  to  van 
ish  swiftly.  He  drew  back. 

"  The  mill  is  yours  now?  "  he  asked. 

The  tone  brought  Mr.  Proctor's  wandering 
glance  to  earth.  "  Yes,  the  mill  is  mine."  It 
was  the  tone  of  the  conscious  superior,  and  he 
amended  it.  "  My  uncle,  who  owned  the  mill,  is 
dead,  you  know.  I  am  his  heir." 


THE  LEGACY  11 

"The  men  say  that  it's  the  same  thing,"  the 
boy  pursued.  "  They  don't  see  any  difference." 

"  A  reincarnation,  am  I  ?     Well,  what  of  it  ?  " 

Again  the  boy's  eyes  shifted.  "  Did  you  have 
slaves  ?  " 

Mr.  Proctor  smiled.  The  lad  was  developing 
surprises.  "  Naturally,"  he  said.  "  Did  my  bio 
graphers  omit  to  state  that  I  was  from  Virginia  ?  " 

The  boy  turned  away.  His  stubborn  mouth 
showed  that  he  could  understand  the  tolerant 
amusement  that  he  was  helpless  to  resent. 

"  I  hope  you  '11  come  for  the  book,  Adrien  ?  " 
Mr.  Proctor  went  on.  "  I  've  no  slaves  now,  I  as 
sure  you,  whatever  my  shameful  past  may  have 
been."  His  smile  was  whimsical,  but  he  held  out 
his  hand,  and  the  boy  took  it  shyly. 

"  I  'd  like  to  come,"  answered  the  boy.  "  I  want 
to  study  everything.  I  mean  to  know  as  much  as 
Kather —  as  much  as  anybody.  I  don't  work  in 
your  mill,  so  I  don't  see  what  the  men  can  do,  even 
if  I  do  come  to  see  you.  The  war  is  over,  anyway. 
The  men  say  "  — 

"  The  men  say  ?  "  Mr.  Proctor  picked  up  the 
broken  thread  only  to  drop  it.  It  was  not  to  his 
mind  to  discuss  his  workmen  and  their  vagaries 
with  this  boy.  "  Come  and  get  the  book,  then. 
Good-by." 

Adrien  hesitated.  "  You  —  you  asked  me  who 
—  who  it  was  that  was  running.  But  I  did  n't  tell 
you  because  —  It  was  Katherine  Edmister,  the 
one  I  told  you  about.  There  she  is ;  and  that 's 
her  father." 


12  THE  LEGATEE 

Mr.  Proctor's  glance  traveled  with  the  boy's 
gesture.  The  red  cap  was  going  up  the  village 
street,  dancing  like  a  wind-blown  leaf  in  the  wake 
of  a  tall  man. 

Dr.  Edmister  and  his  daughter!  Mr.  Proctor 
looked  after  them  with  meditative  anticipation. 
Yet  if  the  father  proved  as  stormy  as  the  daughter 
had  shown  herself  to  be —  He  shook  his  head 
at  the  memory  as  he  unlocked  his  office  door. 


CHAPTER  II 

BEHIND   THE   BED   GERANIUMS 

JESSIE  applied  her  eye  to  knowledge  at  the 
crack  of  Mr.  Proctor's  study  door.  Jessie  was  a 
legacy  —  not  catalogued,  as  were  the  mill  and 
other  properties,  but  none  the  less  an  inheritance. 

She  was  a  Norwegian  woman  who  had  kept  Mr. 
Oliver  Proctor's  house  during  his  life  in  Wilson- 
port  ;  she  would  continue  to  keep  it  for  his  nephew. 
The  phrase,  which  defined  the  situation,  was  her 
own.  To  be  a  man's  servant  was  one  thing,  to 
keep  his  house,  another ;  she  drew  the  distinction 
with  nicety  of  line.  To  keep  a  house  demanded 
more  than  skill  in  cooking  —  though  that  was  hers. 
The  habits  of  the  family  were  a  charge  to  keep,  and 
she  spared  no  labor  in  reforming  them.  She  was 
studying  them  now  upon  her  knees,  and  the  line  of 
her  eyebrows  spoke  dissatisfaction. 

"  Your  uncle  was  always  prompt  to  meals,"  she 
chanted  at  length.  Her  voice  took  the  village  into 
confidence. 

Mr.  Proctor  laid  down  his  pen  without  surprise. 
A  month  of  Wilsonport  and  Jessie  had  inured  him 
to  voices  which  spoke  from  key -holes  and  window 
casings.  "Come  in,  Jessie,"  he  called.  "Is  it 
supper  time  ?  " 


14  THE  LEGATEE 

Jessie  materialized  with  confusing  promptness. 

"  You  said  that  you  was  going  away  to  supper," 
she  said.  "  You  told  me  that  you  was  invited  to 
George  Cole's."  Her  tone  implied  rooted  unbe 
lief  of  his  intentions. 

Mr.  Proctor  looked  at  his  watch.  "I  am. 
And  it's  almost  six  now."  He  turned  from  his 
papers  with  a  smile.  "  So  my  uncle  was  prompt, 
was  he  ?  " 

Jessie  nodded.  Her  brown  face,  despite  its 
wrinkles,  repelled  the  suggestion  of  age.  She 
seemed  as  superior  to  the  weakness  born  of  time  as 
if  she  were  the  gnarled  tree-trunk  she  resembled. 
"  'T  ain't  that  he  was  prompt  when  they  asked 
him,"  she  supplemented.  "They  never  asked 
him." 

"  Asked  him  ?  " 

"  To  supper."  She  nodded  again,  each  move 
ment  pregnant  with  meaning.  "  I  did  n't  suppose 
they  'd  ask  you."  There  was  veiled  pride  in  the 
admission,  and  she  hastened  to  cover  it.  "  They  've 
been  long  enough  making  up  their  minds  to  do  it, 
anyway.  You  've  been  here  a  month  to-morrow." 

Mr.  Proctor's  glance  had  returned  to  his  papers. 
"  Did  n't  they  like  my  uncle  ?  "  he  asked  with 
tolerant  civility  and  an  absent  mind. 

Jessie's  eyes  snapped.  "  Hated  him  like  pizen. 
He  never  listened  to  what  folks  said,  either  —  any 
more  than  you  do.  Smiling  ain't  listening,  let 
me  tell  you."  She  turned  an  indignant  back,  and 
started  toward  the  kitchen,  then  stopped.  "  They 
called  your  uncle  '  Copperhead,'  "  —  she  delivered 


BEHIND  THE  RED  GERANIUMS  15 

her  postscript  as  if  it  were  a  missile,  — "  and 
George  Cole  's  gone  to  housekeeping  in  the  house 
with  the  red  geraniums  in  the  window." 

Mr.  Proctor  looked  after  her,  live  interest 
quickening  his  eyes.  "  '  Copperhead  ! '  "  he  med 
itated.  "  That 's  what  the  boys  called  me  to-day. 
So  Jessie 's  not  the  only  legacy  not  mentioned  in 
the  will."  He  shrugged  his  shoulders,  but  his  lips 
curved  upwards,  and  the  smile  stayed  with  him  in 
his  walk  across  the  sand.  It  was  somewhat  ghoul 
ish,  this  wearing  of  a  dead  man's  mantle,  but  it 
had  its  compensations.  Since  his  surroundings 
held  no  companionship,  it  was  a  boon  that  they 
could  furnish  amusement,  and  he  would  welcome 
novelty  in  any  guise. 

Behind  the  red  geraniums,  Mrs.  Cole  extended 
a  shy  hand  in  welcome. 

"  George  will  be  in  pretty  soon,"  she  explained. 
"  He  could  n't  come  till  the  hands  left  the  mill,  and 
he  's  just  cleaning  himself  up  now." 

The  cleaning  up  disclosed  the  host  in  his  wed 
ding  broadcloth,  grave  and  unabashed.  His  un 
smiling  face  turned  often  to  his  wife  with  evident 
affection,  but  his  words  were  austerely  few,  and 
supper  was  eaten  in  the  silence  which  a  rite  de 
mands.  Mr.  Proctor's  thoughts  canvassed  the 
known  world  for  dialogue,  but  each  essay  failed 
to  evoke  more  than  a  monosyllable.  The  social 
experience  of  years  seemed  threatened  with  ship 
wreck  when  a  scratch  at  the  kitchen  door  brought 
the  hostess  to  her  feet. 

"  That  sounds  like  Chevalier,"  she  cried  with  re- 


16  THE  LEGATEE 

lief.  "  Katherine  must  be  out  there.  I  '11  call 
her  in  to  supper." 

Mrs.  Cole  opened  the  door,  and  a  small  dog 
bounded  in  with  a  delighted  whine,  pawing,  with 
ingratiating  impartiality,  at  the  people  and  chairs 
alike. 

"  Send  him  out,  Olive,"  came  a  clear  voice. 
"  Chevalier  understood  that  the  Panjandrum  was 
coming  to  tea,  and  he 's  after  the  sacrificial  calf. 
He  's  always  pushing  himself  socially." 

Silence  chilled  the  table,  while  a  whispered  con 
sultation  took  place  behind  the  door.  "  I  must 
come  in  and  explain,"  the  voice  went  on,  clearer 
and  more  expostulatory.  "  Indeed  I  must,  Olive. 
No,  I  must  come  now." 

Katherine  Edmister  herself  followed  the  voice, 
and  Mr.  Proctor's  face  showed  sudden  interest. 
He  had  not  seen  her  since  the  day  of  the  wedding, 
and  the  memory  of  her  look  quickened  his  curios 
ity.  If  her  tongue  matched  her  eyes  there  would 
be  no  lack  of  conversation  now. 

"  Miss  Edmister,  let  me  make  you  acquainted  ; 
this  is  Mr.  Proctor,"  said  Mrs.  Cole  with  slow 
formality.  Introductions  were  blessedly  infrequent 
in  Wilsonport,  and  the  form  limped  slightly  on 
the  rare  occasions  of  its  appearance. 

The  geographical  restraints  imposed  by  chair 
and  table  fettered  Mr.  Proctor's  bow,  though  he 
improved  the  limited  area  offered  him,  but  the  girl 
came  forward,  and  held  out  a  brown  hand.  Her 
weapons  seemed  sheathed.  Her  anger  had  appar 
ently  been  a  childish  impulse,  soon  forgotten. 


BEHIND  THE  RED  GERANIUMS  17 

"  I  'm  afraid  that  you  heard  me  call  you  the 
Panjandrum,"  she  began  at  once.  "  I  am  sorry. 
I  supposed  that  you  were  in  the  other  room.  I 
did  n't  mean  to  be  unpleasant.  Indeed  I  did  n't. 
But,  you  see,  we  have  so  little  to  talk  about  here  ! 
I  really  meant,"  her  wide  firm  mouth  twitched 
slightly  at  the  corners,  "  to  be  complimentary." 

Her  look  was  candid  as  a  child's.  In  truth  she 
seemed  little  more  than  one,  with  her  slight  figure 
and  flying  hair,  and  Mr.  Proctor  showed  his  frank 
amusement. 

"  If  I  bury  the  Panjandrum,  will  you  put  the 
lamb  in  the  same  grave  ?  "  he  hazarded.  "  I  know 
that  you  saw  me  laugh  at  the  wedding." 

The  girl's  look  did  not  respond.  She  turned 
with  a  touch  of  hauteur  that  added  years  to  her 
apparent  age.  "  I  must  go,  Olive,"  she  began  ab 
ruptly,  and  walked  toward  the  door,  shaking  her 
head  in  smiling  refusal  of  Mrs.  Cole's  appeals. 

Mr.  Cole  pushed  back  his  plate.  "  I  want  you 
to  stay,  Katherine,"  he  said  with  an  air  of  finality. 

The  girl  stopped  instantly,  though  her  mouth 
was  mutinous.  "I've  had  my  supper,"  she  de 
murred,  "  and  father  will  worry." 

"  I  '11  take  you  home,"  Mr.  Cole  went  on  with 
the  same  note  of  command,  "  and  we  can  send 
word  to  your  father  when  Heinrich  goes  up  with 
the  milk." 

"  Very  well,"  said  Katherine  with  instant  sub 
mission.  She  drew  a  chair  to  the  table,  and  Mr. 
Cole  watched  her,  an  air  of  responsibility  temper 
ing  his  evident  pride. 


18  THE  LEGATEE 

"  You  're  old  enough  to  put  your  hair  up,  Kath- 
erine,"  he  chided.  "  Mr.  Proctor  thinks  that 
you  're  a  little  girl." 

The  girl  flushed,  and  looked  at  Mr.  Proctor  de 
fensively.  "  I  am  not  very  old,"  she  protested. 
"  Karen  is  so  dignified  that  you  expect  too  much 
from  me."  She  seemed  less  annoyed  at  the  per 
sonality  than  anxious  to  cover  the  abruptness  of 
Mr.  Cole's  speech.  She  turned  to  Mr.  Proctor. 
"  Do  you  know  Karen  Torstenson  ?  "  Her  eyes 
lighted  at  the  name. 

It  was  the  man's  turn  to  feel  confused.  He  had 
not  realized  till  that  moment  that  Miss  Torstenson 
had  been  in  his  thoughts. 

"  Miss  Karen  is  the  —  she  sings,  does  n't  she  ?  " 

"  Karen  is  a  child  of  God,"  asserted  Mr.  Cole. 
"Yes,  she  sings  in  the  choir.  You  ought  to  know 
her.  I  '11  get  her  now,  and  we  can  have  a  sing." 

His  wife  nodded  placid  approval.  "  Get  Paul 
Livingstone  to  come  too,"  she  called  after  him, 
"and  ask  him  to  bring  his  '  Precious  Jewels.' ' 

Mr.  Proctor  ventured  a  smile.  "  Does  he  wear 
them  —  the  jewels  ?  "  He  turned  toward  Kather- 
ine,  but  her  grave  face  reduced  jesting  to  imper 
tinence. 

Mrs.  Cole's  light  laugh  expressed  less  of  amuse 
ment  than  of  comfortable  acquiescence.  "  It 's 
a  singing  book,"  she  conscientiously  explained. 
" '  Precious  Jewels  '  is  just  its  name.  I  wanted 
Paul  Livingstone  to  bring  it  along  with  him.  Paul 
Livingstone  's  our  teacher." 

"  Oh  !  "  said  Mr.  Proctor  comprehensively  and 


BEHIND  THE  RED  GERANIUMS  19 

with  meekness,  oppressed  by  Katherine's  deliberate 
scrutiny.  He  had  no  words  to  add,  for  they  were 
entering  the  front  room,  and  the  gloom  of  that 
formal  apartment  fell  blightingly  upon  his  spirit. 
All  his  standards  were  at  fault,  and  he  surrendered 
himself  to  the  red  plush  arms  awaiting  him,  bereft 
of  whatever  small  talk  his  life  had  taught  him. 
He  seemed  thinking  in  a  foreign  tongue. 

Mrs.  Cole  sat  down  on  a  worsted  bird  of  violent 
plumage,  and  rocked  to  and  fro.  Her  air  of 
pleased  content  was  in  itself  an  illumination  of  the 
labyrinth  of  Mr.  Proctor's  doubts.  Why,  he  was 
not  expected  to  talk  !  Clearly  the  compulsion  of 
conversation,  other  than  as  a  means  to  an  end, 
was  unknown  to  Mrs.  Cole's  mind. 

A  rap  at  the  kitchen  door  broke  the  spell. 

"It's  Mr.  Heinrich  with  the  milk,  Olive." 
Katherine,  who  had  remained  in  the  kitchen,  looked 
in  to  explain. 

Heinrich  was  the  keeper  of  the  lighthouse,  and 
the  village  dairyman  as  well,  —  a  small  bent  man, 
with  shrewd  eyes  and  grizzled  hair.  He  met 
Katherine  with  a  bow  of  exaggerated  deference, 
and  she  responded  with  a  courtesy  of  equal  import. 
Then  they  laughed,  as  friends  of  old  time  laugh 
together,  and  went  into  the  pantry,  whence  dis 
jointed  murmurs  of  further  laughter  reached  the 
front  room.  Mr.  Proctor  looked  at  his  hostess, 
but  she  made  no  explanation  even  when  Kather 
ine's  clear  treble  was  heard  to  say,  — 

"  Say  to  the  Lady  Bertha  that  court  will  be  held 
.Saturday  next." 


20  THE  LEGATEE 

The  answer  which  Mr.  Proctor  awaited  with 
shameless  eagerness  was  lost  in  the  sound  of  Mr. 
Cole's  steps  outside. 

With  Mr.  Cole  came  Karen  Torstenson,  and  a 
sombre-eyed  young  man  who  was  introduced  as 
Mr.  Livingstone,  the  teacher.  Miss  Torstenson, 
her  height  dwarfing  the  men  beside  her,  entered 
with  a  matronly  assurance  of  movement  that  con 
tradicted  her  dimple.  Her  blush,  as  she  was  in 
troduced,  meant  nothing,  but  was  entrancing  to 
watch,  and  the  three  men,  each  to  his  fashion, 
paid  tribute  —  Mr.  Cole  with  the  complacence  of 
familiarity,  Mr.  Proctor  with  undisguised  admira 
tion,  and  the  schoolmaster  with  a  frown  of  pro 
test. 

There  was  no  lack  of  conversation  now.  It  ran 
the  gamut  of  the  day's  sorrow  and  comedy ;  the 
price  of  hemlock  bark  ;  the  working  out  of  the 
road  tax ;  the  run  of  whitefish  ;  the  sinking  of  a 
schooner.  Mr.  Proctor  listened,  but  most  of  the 
talk  was  Chaldaic  to  his  mind.  He  looked  at 
Katherine.  She  sat,  her  dog  in  her  arms,  her  face 
vivid  with  attention,  and  his  interest  in  her  flagged. 
He  had  thought,  in  an  unformulated  way,  tfcat  the 
girl's  defiant  attitude  might  be  a  reflection  of  her 
father's  revolt  against  the  restrictions  of  the  vil 
lage  life,  and  that  he  might  find  in  Dr.  Edmister 
one  to  whom  this  gossip  was  a  weariness.  But  no. 
The  voices  about  him  quoted  the  doctor  as  author 
ity.  Father  and  daughter  evidently  looked  at  this 
as  life.  Mr.  Proctor  was  conscious  of  disappoint 
ment. 


BEHIND  THE  RED  GERANIUMS  21 

It  was  a  relief  to  turn  to  Karen.  She  rocked  in 
radiant  calm,  talking  not  at  all,  but  laughing,  now 
and  then,  at  nothing  in  particular,  with  the  gur 
gling  rush  of  a  meadowlark's  note,  —  a  sound  so 
delicious  that  Mr.  Proctor  wondered  if  his  admira 
tion  of  it  were  patent  enough  to  be  disconcerting. 
Mr.  Livingstone's  eyes  followed  him  with  unplea 
sant  intentness,  and  though  his  weeks  in  Wilson- 
port  had  wonted  him  to  unexplained  dislike,  this 
look  seemed  needlessly  hostile. 

The  talk  was  now  of  the  church,  and  George 
Cole  had  forgotten  his  taciturnity  in  a  discussion 
of  the  needs  of  the  Sunday-school.  They  had 
been  having  a  revival,  he  parenthesized  to  Mr. 
Proctor,  and  now  they  must  plan  to  hold  the  young 
people.  His  unembarrassed  speech  was  convin 
cing,  and  Mr.  Proctor's  intelligence  joyed  in  a  sud 
den  understanding  of  his  superintendent's  force. 
He  remembered  Katherine's  docility  of  the  earlier 
evening ;  was  it  because  she,  too,  appreciated 
strength  that  she  had  given  such  swift  obedience  ? 
He  looked  across  at  her  with  a  return  of  curios 
ity.  . 

She  met  his  scrutiny  with  unconsciousness  of  his 
existence.  Her  mind  was  following  Mr.  Cole,  and 
she  shook  Chevalier's  submissive  paw  to  testify  to 
her  approval. 

"  They  need  work  to  keep  them  interested,"  she 
interrupted.  "  I  '11  make  the  girls  in  my  class  give 
a  tenth  of  their  berry  money.  It 's  going  to  be  a 
great  raspberry  year." 

Mr.  Proctor's  too  ready  smile  betrayed  him  ;  the 


22  THE  LEGATEE 

connection  between  revivals  and  raspberries  seemed 
remote. 

"Picking  berries  is  hard  work,"  Katherine 
flashed.  "  Honest  work  —  work  that 's  worth 
while." 

Mr.  Proctor  alone  understood  the  addendum, 
but  he  refused  to  meet  the  challenge,  and  dismissed 
the  matter  with  a  mental  shrug.  The  girl  was 
tiresome  with  her  perpetual  defiance  of  his  smiles. 
Had  she  undertaken  to  champion  the  entire  vil 
lage? 

Karen  smiled  languidly  at  her  friend's  enthusi 
asm.  Her  blue  eyes  were  untroubled  by  a  hint  of 
either  assent  or  protest,  and  the  very  folds  of  her 
gown  radiated  calm.  Mr.  Proctor  walked  over  to 
her  and  began  to  talk.  It  was  worth  while  to  wake 
her  laughter. 

"  Sing  for  us,  Karen,"  Mr.  Cole  said,  after  a 
pause.  He  dropped  his  head  back,  and  his  face 
resumed  its  mask. 

Karen  rose  at  once,  and  picked  up  a  singing 
book. 

"  Page  sixty-seven,"  Livingstone  begged,  as  she 
passed  him. 

The  girl  smiled  obediently.  She  was  standing 
by  the  table,  and  the  light  behind  her  shone  through 
the  cobweb  tissues  of  her  hair. 

"  '  Hark  !   hark,  my  soul ;  angelic  songs  are  swelling.'  " 

Karen's  voice  held  now  no  suggestion  of  the  reso 
nant  organ  tone  of  the  day  of  the  wedding.  With 
faint  flute  notes,  tender  as  the  cry  of  birds  at 


BEHIND  THE  RED   GERANIUMS  23 

wakening,  it  filled  the  little  room  with  throbbing 
suggestions  too  evanescent  for  speech. 

No  voice  joined  Karen's.  Katherine  had  crept 
over  to  Mrs.  Cole,  laying  a  childish  head,  with  tum 
bled  hair,  close  to  her  protecting  arm,  and  her  face 
looked  small  and  awed. 

"'Onward  we  go,  for  still  we  hear  them  singing. 
Come,  weary  souls,  for  Jesus  bids  you  come.'  " 

What  did  Katherine  know  of  weariness  ?     Yet  her 
red  lips  trembled. 

Long  night  seemed  stealing  on  them  as  they 
listened  —  night  and  infinity;  and  George  Cole's 
hand  sought  his  wife's  and  held  it  closely  in  the 
dark  folds  of  her  gown.  The  fire  of  the  zealot 
glowed  in  Livingstone's  eyes  as  he  listened,  but  no 
call  to  arms  was  in  the  singer's  voice  —  only  the 
pleading  of  the  fostering  mother  ;  and  through  the 
white  radiance  of  the  moonlit  village  the  echo  fol 
lowed  the  little  party  to  their  homes. 

"  Far,  far  away,  like  bells  at  evening  pealing, 
The  voice  of  Jesus  sounds  o'er  land  and  sea : 
And  laden  souls  by  thousands  meekly  stealing, — 
Kind  Shepherd,  turn  their  weary  steps  to  Thee." 


CHAPTER  III 
"WHAT  DOTH  IT  PROFIT?" 

IT  was  four  o'clock  of  the  next  day.  Paul  Liv 
ingstone  closed  the  red  covers  of  his  school  register, 
and  looked  with  a  sigh  over  the  waiting  rows  of 
pupils.  That  his  sigh  was  of  relief  was  a  matter 
for  personal  rebuke,  and  he  would  expiate  it  later ; 
but  now,  even  his  mind  inclined  to  idleness.  June 
had  come  to  Wilsonport  with  sunrise. 

Mr.  Livingstone  rose.  "All  those,"  his  voice 
was  portentous,  "  who  have  communicated  to-day 
may  stand." 

A  moment's  pause,  then  Karen  Torstenson  and 
Katherine  Edmister  rose  in  the  rear  of  the  room. 
It  was  a  daily  tableau,  but  it  held  ever  the  thrill 
of  novelty,  and  a  laughing  rustle  swept  the  expec 
tant  ranks.  The  master's  face  twitched  ;  his  look 
traveled  down  the  lines,  but  each  face  met  his  sus 
picion  with  reproachful  composure,  and  his  glance 
dropped,  baffled. 

"Miss  Torstenson  and  Miss  Edmister  may  re 
main  in  their  seats,"  he  said.  "  Attention !  Keady  ! 
One  — two"  — 

The  tramping  feet  —  they  were  the  heavier  that 
the  door  was  near,  and  the  out  of  doors  lawlessly 
beguiling  —  filled  the  room  with  a  haze  of  white 


"WHAT  DOTH  IT  PROFIT?"  25 

dust,  through  which  Mr.  Livingstone  peered  dubi 
ously  at  his  refractory  pupils.  The  ordeal  be 
fore  him  lost  none  of  its  poignancy  through  daily 
familiarity. 

"  You  may  report  at  the  desk,  young  ladies," 
he  said  with  ceremony,  and  awaited  them  stiffly  as 
they  came  up  the  echoing  room. 

"  Have  you  any  explanation,  Miss  Torstenson  ?  " 
Mr.  Livingstone's  eyes  fled  from  the  girl's  while 
using  her  name. 

Karen's  ready  dimple  answered  for  her,  but  the 
teacher's  look  was  downcast,  so  her  "  No,  sir,"  was 
edifyingly  meek. 

"  You  know  the  rules,  Miss  Torstenson  —  I  can 
not  allow  "  —  the  man  stumbled. 

Katherine  looked  amused.  "  Karen  did  n't  whis 
per  —  much,"  she  interrupted,  "  and  I  'm  to  blame, 
anyway,  for  I  tempted  her." 

Mr.  Livingstone  turned  from  Miss  Torstenson 
with  relief,  and  looked  at  the  speaker  ;  he  had  no 
difficulty  in  meeting  her  eyes. 

"  Do  you  realize,  Miss  Edmister,  what  your  re 
port  will  be  this  month  ?  "  he  asked  with  emphasis. 
"  Do  you  know  you  are  the  most  unruly  member 
of  this  school,  and  I  must  mark  you  as  such  ?  " 

"  Yes,  sir,"  Katherine  assented  blithely.  Her 
tone  was  studiously  respectful,  but  her  glance 
strayed  ;  it  was  clear  that  her  enormities  weighed 
but  lightly  on  her  spirit. 

"  You  are  too  old  to  be  punished,  and  I  can  only 
mark  your  deportment  card,  and  trust  to  your 
pride."  Mr.  Livingstone's  voice  was  the  monotone 


26  THE   LEGATEE 

of  stereotyped  phrase,  and  his  pupil's  mind  was 
with  the  dimpling  lake  without.  The  man  looked 
at  her.  "  I  wish  you'd  try  to  do  better,  Katherine," 
he  said  impulsively.  "  You  have  so  much  influence 
with  the  younger  girls,  that  you  make  my  work 
very  hard." 

Katherine's  eyes  came  back  from  the  window. 
"  Do  I  ? "  There  was  evident  contrition  in  her 
surprise.  "  Why,  I  never  thought  of  it  in  that  way, 
and  I  won't  do  it  any  more  —  that  is  —  I  '11  try. 
But  really  I  was  to  blame  about  Karen." 

Karen,  who  had  been  playing  with  a  sprig  of 
lilac  in  her  belt  and  listening  idly,  as  to  an  oft- 
heard  tale,  lifted  her  head  at  sound  of  her  name, 
and  gave  her  teacher  a  brilliant  smile.  Quadratic 
equations  left  her  mind  nebulous,  but  she  had  other 
knowledge  much  more  valuable,  and  the  charts  of 
this  young  man's  thought  were  quite  within  her 
grasp.  The  look  which  he  gave  her  in  return 
shook  for  a  moment  her  usual  composure,  and  she 
turned  sharply,  catching  her  long  braids  of  hair  on 
a  projecting  screw  of  the  recitation  bench.  Mr. 
Livingstone  sprang  to  his  feet,  but  Katherine  was 
before  him. 

"  Let  me  do  it.  You  '11  break  Karen's  hair,"  she 
said  jealously.  Her  brown  hands  were  deft,  and 
she  unwound  the  strands  with  loving  caution. 

' ' '  Her  yelwe  heer  was  browded  in  a  tresse, 
Byhynde  her  bak,  a  yerde  long  I  gesse,'  " 

she  lightly  quoted.  "  There  !  I  've  saved  every 
inch  of  the  yard,  Karen.  Good-night,  Mr.  Liv 
ingstone." 


"WHAT  DOTH  IT  PROFIT?"  27 

The  teacher's  long  breath  of  relaxation  made 
him  oblivious  for  the  moment  of  Adrien  Lauze- 
one's  soft-footed  approach.  The  boy  waited,  im 
mobile,  patient.  Heredity  had  taught  him  the 
attitude  of  the  inferior. 

"Well,  Adrien,  what  is  it?"  asked  the  man. 
The  schoolmaster  had  dropped  from  him  when 
Katherine  ran  down  the  steps. 

The  boy  leaned  against  the  desk  with  the  confi 
dential  air  of  one  prepared  for  a  long  talk. 

"  You  heard  what  Katherine  said,"  he  began,  — 
"  all  that  poetry  about  the  hair.  Do  you  know 
who  wrote  it  ?  " 

"  No,"  the  man  answered.  "  Katherine  Edmis- 
ter  knows  a  good  many  things  that  I  don't,"  he 
admitted  with  troubled  sincerity. 

The  boy's  nod  was  sage.  "  I  know  who  wrote 
it,"  he  said,  ignoring  the  confession.  "  His  name 
was  Chaucer.  Dr.  Edmister  gave  me  the  book." 
There  was  silence  for  a  moment,  and  the  plash  of 
the  waves  sounded  loud.  "  Dr.  Edmister  talks 
that  way,  saying  things  out  of  books,"  the  boy 
went  on  with  an  effort,  "  and  now  Mr.  Proctor  has 
come  from  outside,  and  he  talks  the  same  way. 
I  'm  not  going  to  stay  here  always  "  —  He  paused 
for  the  evident  deduction. 

The  master's  face  was  attentive.  "I  under 
stand,  Adrien  ;  you  need  more  than  I  can  give 
you,"  he  said  with  humility  that  suggested  no 
touch  of  affectation.  "  Yet  books  are  not  all,  and 
I  have  done  for  you  the  best  that  I  know  how.  I 
have  carried  you  greatly  on  my  heart.  I  have 


28  THE  LEGATEE 

striven,  to  the  utmost,  for  all  of  you.  And  now 
some  of  you,"  his  eyes  dropped,  "  are  drifting 
away." 

The  boy  looked  impatient.  "  Well,  then  you 
see  how  it  is,"  he  pursued  with  ruthless  egotism ; 
"  I  'm  only  wasting  my  time  here.  Maybe  Mr. 
Proctor  will  talk  to  father  —  but  I  want  you  to 
talk  to  him  first.  Father  does  n't  like  Mr.  Proc 
tor." 

Mr.  Livingstone's  look  changed ;  it  grew  harder. 

"  Do  you  see  much  of  this  Mr.  Proctor, 
Adrien?" 

"  He  lends  me  books.  You  want  me  to  read  all 
the  books  I  can  get.  You  said  so." 

Mr.  Livingstone  bent  a  perturbed  frown  on  the 
boy.  "  I  want  you  to  grow  to  the  full  stature  of 
a  man,  not  to  consort  with  a  law-breaker,  with  a 
man  who  trafficked  in  human  souls,  and  is  a  free 
thinker  and  drunkard  as  well." 

"  But  he  is  n't  a  drunkard  !  "  cried  the  boy. 

"  What  is  he,  then  ?  Not  a  teetotaler.  I  asked 
him  last  night.  I  wanted  him  to  speak  before  my 
Mission  Band,  and  he  refused.  4  He  who  is  not 
for  us,  is  against  us.'  Never  forget  that,  Adrien." 

Adrien  looked  unconvinced.  "  Dr.  Edmister 
drinks  wine,  too,"  he  said  carelessly.  Then,  with 
a  touch  of  shrewdness  that  sharpened  his  features, 
"  Mr.  Proctor  has  such  lots  of  money.  Perhaps 
he  '11  help  father  send  me  away  to  school." 

Mr.  Livingstone's  hand  pressed  the  boy's  shoul 
der.  "  Adrien  !  '  What  doth  it  profit  a  man  if 
he  gain  the  whole  world  ? '  "  he  cried.  "  Would 


"WHAT  DOTH  IT  PROFIT?"  29 

you  sell  your  soul  for  such  a  mess  of  pottage  as 
this  man's  money?  And  if  Dr.  Edmister  does 
drink  wine  —  Oh,  I  have  known  for  a  long  time 
what  influence  was  working  against  me  !  Adrien, 
are  you  tending  the  bar  again  ?  " 

Adrien  scowled.  "  It 's  me  or  Ferdinante  — • 
evenings.  Katherine  said  I  ought  to  be  ashamed 
—  not  taking  my  turn.  She  said  it  might  be  a 
very  saintly  thing  to  do,  to  stay  at  home  and  send 
my  sister  to  the  saloon  to  do  my  work,  but  that  if 
it  was,  she  hoped  my  halo  would  have  pricks  in  it." 
His  voice  mimicked  the  disdain  in  the  girl's  tone. 

The  man's  face  took  heavy  lines.  "  It 's  as  I 
thought.  Surely  a  man's  foes  are  of  his  own 
household.  Shut  your  ears  to  Katherine.  She 
has  an  idle  tongue,  and  it  betrays  her." 

The  boy's  face  showed  rising  color.  "  Kather 
ine  's  in  your  church,"  he  said  suspiciously.  "  It 's 
queer  for  you  to  talk  about  her  like  that.  Why, 
Ferdinante  says  that  she  's  leading  me  away  ;  she 
says  the  priest  says  so,"  he  broke  off,  with  an  em 
barrassed  laugh. 

"  'If  thy  right  hand  offend  thee,  cut  it  off.' "  The 
man's  eyes  glowed  as  if  the  words  fed  inward  fires. 
"  What  if  Katherine  is  in  the  church !  That  makes 
her  even  more  a  stumbling  block.  She  is  like  her 
father.  Be  warned,  Adrien.  There  is  much  that 
is  worldly,  much  that  is  seditious  and  unsettling, 
that  comes  from  that  house  on  the  bluff." 

"  Don't  you  want  me  to  go  to  the  Edmisters'  ?  " 
The  boy  was  frowning. 

The   schoolmaster   paced   the    floor.     "I  want 


30  THE  LEGATEE 

you  to  feel,"  his  voice  was  rising,  "  that  all  are  as 
chaff  who  do  not  execute  judgment  and  righteous 
ness.  Strange  times  are  at  hand.  The  spoiled 
shall  be  delivered  from  the  hand  of  the  oppressor. 
Then  woe  to  them  who  by  sitting  in  high  places 
cause  a  brother  to  offend.  The  sword  of  the  Lord 
and  Gideon  shall  smite." 

"  What  are  you  going  to  do?"  asked  the  boy 
with  practical  eagerness.  His  eyes  had  lost  their 
doubt. 

Mr.  Livingstone's  hand  reproved  him.  "  It  is 
not  I  —  yet  the  Lord  sometimes  reveals  his  pur 
pose  through  the  humblest  of  his  instruments. 
And  were  I  chosen  —  But  first  must  come  a  win 
nowing  of  the  wheat.  Those  who  are  dross,  be 
they  our  dearest,  must  be  burned  away."  His  tone 
was  growing  tense. 

A  wandering  breeze  gathered  a  spray  of  lilac 
from  the  top  of  a  desk,  and  tossed  it  against  the 
young  man's  hand.  He  started,  and  mechanically 
picked  it  up.  The  crushed  flowers  still  held  their 
fragrance,  and  the  man's  face  broke  into  gentler 
lines. 

"Adrien" —  his  voice  was  almost  tender;  the 
flowers  were  lying  in  his  palm  —  "changes  — 
changes,  and  great  deeds  —  lie  before  us  here  in 
Wilsonport,  but  the  appointed  time  is  not  yet.  I 
shall  be  away  this  summer.  When  I  return  I 
shall  bring  help,  and  the  fields  may  perchance  be 
ready  for  the  plough.  In  the  mean  time  pray 
without  ceasing  that  those  who  are  dear  to  us  may 
not  be  found  among  the  chaff." 


CHAPTER  IV 

THE  HOUSE   ON  THE   BLUFF 

FROM  the  village  to  the  house  on  the  bluff  a 
narrow  footpath  twisted  upward  through  the  pines, 
and  while  Adrien  and  Mr.  Livingstone  talked  at 
the  schoolhouse,  Katherine  loitered  homeward  un 
der  broidered  canopies  of  leaf  and  blossom.  The 
sombre  green  of  the  dark  pines  was  broken  here 
by  trees  of  lighter  foliage  :  silver  birches  lifted 
airy  minarets  of  pendulous  boughs ;  sumachs  thrust 
heavy  spears  of  green  from  out  their  leafy  tangles, 
and  aspens,  tortured  by  the  snows  of  bygone  win 
ters,  cast  strange  contorted  shadows  on  the  path. 
The  sunshine  of  late  afternoon  dappled  the  moss- 
grown  trunks  with  gold,  and  flushed  with  faint 
pink  the  waxen  blossoms  of  the  LinnaBus,  that 
trailed  with  graceful  garlanding  across  the  way. 
Harebells  blossomed  in  sunny  nooks,  and  here  and 
there,  amid  the  deeper  shade,  late  wintergreen  ber 
ries  glowed  from  out  their  glossy  leaves,  flecking 
the  ground  with  crimson  splashes. 

It  was  a  goodly  world,  and  Katherine  went 
through  it  softly  singing.  She  stopped  many 
times  :  now  to  throw  herself  at  full  length  on 
the  crackling  pine  needles,  resinous  and  aromatic 
in  the  sun ;  now  to  chatter  with  a  friendly  chip- 


32  THE  LEGATEE 

munk ;  and  now  to  arbitrate,  with  dignity  of  ges 
ture,  between  two  woodpeckers  who  were  holding 
a  wordy  altercation  on  the  sheltered  side  of  a 
blasted  pine. 

The  long  log  house  that  Dr.  Edmister  and  his 
daughter  called  home  hung,  as  Mr.  Proctor  had 
said,  over  the  water,  just  where  the  rounding 
shoulder  of  the  bluff  dropped,  with  a  sheer  plunge, 
to  the  beach  below.  Its  walls,  mellowed  by  na 
ture's  craft  to  ashen  gray,  were  tapestried  with 
curtains  of  wild  grape,  and  the  low  veranda  in 
front  of  the  house  was  hung  with  masses  of  Vir 
ginia  creeper. 

Katherine  found  her  father  sitting  in  the  shade 
of  the  veranda,  surrounded  by  a  litter  of  books 
and  fishing-rods ;  and  tossing  her  hat  on  the  floor, 
she  curled  beside  him  with  a  contented  sigh. 

Dr.  Edmister  lifted  an  interrogative  face. 

"  Late  again  !  Were  you  kept  after  school  ?  " 
The  censure  in  his  tone  was  perfunctory,  and  his 
daughter  slipped  a  caressing  hand  along  his  arm. 

"  Don't  tell  Mrs.  Green,"  she  coaxed.  "  She  '11 
make  me  a  subject  for  special  pleading  in  prayer- 
meeting.  I  'm  getting  on  her  conscience." 

Dr.  Edmister  attempted  a  frown.  It  sat  ill 
upon  his  sensitive,  clean-cut  face,  and  he  aban 
doned  the  attempt  with  dispatch.  "  You  persist 
in  a  very  childish  attitude,  Katherine,"  he  said 
with  lingering  protest.  "  If  you  lived  anywhere 
but  in  the  top  of  a  pine-tree  in  the  Wisconsin 
forest  —  yes,  I  saw  you  yesterday ;  don't  squander 
that  look  of  artless  surprise  —  you  would  be  a 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  BLUFF  33 

young  lady.  Is  it  quite  worthy  of  your  years  to 
spend  your  time  devising  trouble  for  that  serious- 
minded  young  man  ?  Not,"  he  added,  with  rising 
warmth,  "  that  the  man's  personality  is  in  the  least 
in  question.  He  has  been  placed  in  a  position  of 
authority  over  you,  and  I  have  tried  to  teach  you 
to  respect  authority,  no  matter  how  clothed.  You 
are,  I  fear,  an  idle  pupil  in  more  senses  than  one." 

The  girl  flushed.  "  He  asks  who  has  communi 
cated,"  she  said  plaintively.  "What  can  I  do? 
Communicate  ?  Of  course  I  communicate.  If  my 
tongue  did  n't,  my  eyes  would.  Why  will  he  use 
that  absurd  word  ?  And  when  I  stand  up  alone, 
night  after  night,  —  Karen  was  with  me  to-day, 
but  she  inclines  to  paths  of  virtue,  —  he  looks  at 
me  with  horror  and  forgets  all  about  the  whisper 
ing  that  has  been  going  on  under  his  eyes  all  day. 
Please  don't  look  reproving.  It 's  not  permissible 
for  one  to  be  so  stupid." 

"  You  are  experimenting,  then,  with  the  man's 
confidence  in  the  honor  of  his  pupils  ?  "  Dr.  Ed- 
mister  queried  judicially. 

"  I  am  experimenting  with  his  common-sense," 
Katherine  returned  with  emphasis.  "  Think  of  a 
grown  man  so  shortsighted  as  not  to  see  that  he  is 
teaching  the  children  to  lie  in  the  most  brazen 
fashion  —  Oh,  look !  "  with  a  quick  change  of  tone. 
"  There  's  Mr.  Heinrich's  sail  —  I  can  see  the  patch 
on  the  jib  !  He 's  coming  in  from  the  shoal,  too  ! 
The  signs  read  Bass  for  supper !  " 

Dr.  Edmister  picked  up  a  fly-book  from  the 
veranda  floor,  and  dusted  its  covers  with  affection- 


34:  THE  LEGATEE 

ate  solicitude.  "  The  signs  will  read  bass  to-mor 
row  night,  at  all  events,"  he  prophesied. 

The  girl  caught  the  complacence  in  his  tone. 
"  Are  you  going  out  with  Mr.  Heinrich  ?  "  The 
voice  was  wistful. 

"  I  think  so.  If  it 's  a  quiet  evening  we  11  sail 
over  to  the  middle  grounds,  and  I'll  try  a  few 
casts.  I  have  n't  had  my  tackle  out  this  year.'* 

"  Am  I  tackle  ?  "  murmured  the  girl,  with  arch 
ing  brows. 

"  Not  this  time.  The  boat  is  small,  and  I  need 
Heinrich  to  manage  the  sail.  I  want  a  good  basket 
to-morrow." 

"  Five  barley  loaves,"  suggested  the  girl.  "  You 
know  that  we  can't  eat  more  than  three  small 
fishes.  Have  n't  I  heard  remarks  about  pot  fisher 
men?  Oh,  take  me  with  you,  and  let  the  good 
basket  go !  " 

Dr.  Edmister  shook  his  head.  "Mr.  Proctor 
has  been  informed,"  he  said,  "  that  a  bass  never 
takes  a  fly  in  these  waters.  He  has  a  book  that 
is  somewhat  dogmatic  on  the  subject.  It 's  unfor 
tunate,  this  habit  of  believing  in  books,"  he  mused, 
smiling.  "  It  fetters  the  imagination.  Now  look 
at  this  jungle  cock !  "  He  took  a  vividly  hued 
fly,  and  held  it  to  the  light.  "  What  bass  of  sober 
character  and  habits  would  think  of  refusing 
that?" 

Katherine's  eyebrows  lost  their  arch,  and  drew 
ominously  near  together.  "  I  did  n't  know  that  you 
knew  Mr.  Proctor.  You  said  that  you  did  n't  think 
that  you  cared  to  know  him.  You  know  that  you 


THE  HOUSE   ON  THE  BLUFF  35 

never  could  tolerate  his  uncle,  and  this  man  is  ex 
actly  like  him,  only  a  great  deal  worse."  The 
accusations  poured  out  breathlessly. 

Dr.  Edmister  looked  faintly  amused.  "  I  am 
not  deaf,"  he  observed.  "  Despite  my  advanced 
age  I  hear  excellently,  and  I  am  also,"  he  went  on, 
with  a  crafty  eye  upon  his  daughter's  face,  "  still 
capable  of  controlling  my  acquaintance  with  an 
eye  single  to  my  own  pleasure." 

Katherine  looked  abashed,  but  an  almost  imper 
ceptible  lift  of  the  corner  of  her  father's  mustache 
taught  her  her  bearings,  and  she  climbed  reck 
lessly  up  on  the  arm  of  his  chair.  "  Traitor !  " 
she  whispered  in  measured  syllables  into  his  ear. 
"  Did  you  see  the  box  of  chessmen  standing  on 
that  man's  window  ledge  ?  " 

"  I  did,"  said  her  father  with  immovable  face. 
"  They  were  of  old  ivory,  and  quaintly  carved.  I 
saw  them." 

"  You  called,  of  course.     When  do  you  play  ?  " 

Dr.  Edmister  laughed.  "Mr.  Proctor  is  com 
ing  up  here  to-night.  We  may  try  conclusions 
in  a  game  or  so.  I  don't  know.  Mr.  Proctor  has 
been  well  trained,  but  he  is  a  young  man,  and 
youth  is  volatile.  Chess  is  a  game  for  old  age 
and  the  fireside.  I  'm  badjy  out  of  practice,  but 
I  don't  know  that  I  'm  afraid  of  the  result." 

Katherine  slipped  from  the  chair  and  walked 
to  the  veranda  rail.  "  I  won't  see  him.  I  shan't 
have  to,  shall  I  ?  "  she  asked. 

Dr.  Edmister  looked  at  her  curiously  ;  her  voice 
had  learned  a  new  note.  "  What  is  it,  Kather- 


36  THE  LEGATEE 

ine  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  disjointed  his  rods  and  put 
them  back  in  their  cases.  "  What 's  Mr.  Proctor's 
particular  item  of  offense  ?  You  're  not  jealous  of 
the  chess,  are  you?  " 

"  Jealous  of  him !  Hardly.  But  he  's  rude 
and  sneering.  He  called  Mr.  Ellis  a  lamb." 

"A  lamb!" 

"  Adrien  Lauzeone  said  so.  And  I  saw  him 
laugh  at  the  church  at  the  wedding,  when  Nelly 
Peterson  played  '  Rescue  the  Perishing.' ' 

Dr.  Edmister  looked  resigned.  "  If  you  Ve 
sufficient  command  of  your  native  English  to  tell 
this  story  coherently,  Katherine,  I  shall  be  grate 
ful.  My  imagination  has  its  reserves.  Spare 
them." 

Katherine  gave  an  unwilling  smile.  "  I  sup 
pose  you  '11  laugh  too,"  she  said,  as  she  told  her 
story,  "but  I  don't  mind  your  laughter.  You 
don't  sneer.  Why,  we  both  laugh,  but  it 's  differ 
ent  —  we  're  part  of  it.  Mr.  Proctor  does  n't  be 
long  here.  What  business  has  he  to  come  from 
outside  and  show  us  how  queer  we  are  ?  It  is  n't 
generous !  "  she  concluded  defiantly. 

Her  father  leaned  against  the  rail,  and  listened 
with  tolerant  enjoyment.  His  height  and  bearing 
gave  him  a  look  of  austere  distinction  that  his 
gray  hair  accented,  and  his  daughter's  mind  re 
sponded  to  the  look  of  command  in  his  face. 

"  Mr.  Proctor  may  be  the  malefactor  that  your 
tone  implies,"  he  said  at  last,  "  but  you  have  proved 
to  me  only  that  he  has  an  appreciative  mind.  I 
think  the  better  of  him,  —  that  quality  being,  as  I 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  BLUFF      37 

have  heard  you  remark,  not  altogether  common 
in  Wilsonport." 

Katherine  looked  stubborn.  "  I  don't  like  him," 
she  persisted. 

"  You  may  like  him  better  when  you  meet  him. 
I  found  him  civil  enough,  certainly,  if  that  is  the 
article  of  your  complaint." 

"  I  have  met  him." 

Dr.  Edmister  looked  up  sharply.  "  You  have  ? 
You  have  n't  told  me  of  that,  my  daughter." 

"  There  was  n't  much  to  tell.  Yes,  I  suppose 
that  I  ought  to  have  told  you ;  I  will  now.  I 
suppose  you  '11  laugh  at  this,  too."  Her  tone  did 
not  invite  amusement. 

She  was  her  father's  daughter;  so  she  told  a 
story  too  well  to  spare  herself  in  the  telling,  but 
Dr.  Edmister  did  not  laugh. 

"  Why  did  you  go  in  when  you  knew  that  Mr. 
Proctor  was  there?"  he  asked  perplexedly. 

Katherine  bit  her  lip.  "  I  had  to  apologize,  and 
I  wanted  to  have  it  over  with." 

"  But  why  an  apology  ?  You  say  that  you  dis 
like  him." 

The  girl  looked  troubled  at  his  density.  "  Don't 
you  see,"  she  explained,  "  that  was  just  why  I  had 
to  apologize  ?  I  had  made  up  my  mind  never  to 
like  him,  nor  to  have  anything  to  do  with  him  ; 
then  I  put  myself  in  the  wrong  by  making  that 
silly  speech,  so  that  I  was  as  much  at  fault  as  he. 
I  had  to  apologize  so  that  I  could  start  fair." 

Dr.  Edmister  gave  her  a  moment's  puzzled 
study.  "  I  am  afraid  that  I  shall  have  to  send  you 


38  THE  LEGATEE 

away,"  he  said  shortly.  "  You  will  lose  your  sense 
of  humor  if  you  stay  here  longer,  and  you  can't 
afford  that.  A  sense  of  humor,"  he  observed 
didactically  to  the  air  at  large,  "is,  after  all,  the 
only  heritage  that  the  ages  have  left  us  —  is  all 
that  distinguishes  us  from  the  savage.  No,  Kath- 
erine,  beware !  Lose  your  sense  of  humor,  your 
grasp  of  the  point  of  view,  and  I  will  put  you  in 
moccasins." 

The  girl's  eyes  grew  stormy.  "  All  that  does  n't 
change  my  opinion  of  Mr.  Proctor,"  she  insisted, 
a  break  in  her  voice.  "I  don't  care  if  it  was 
funny.  Mr.  Cole  is  n't  funny,  and  he  laughed  at 
Mr.  Cole's  wedding.  I  can't  stand  it  for  anybody 
to  laugh  at  Mr.  Cole  —  funny  or  not !  "  The  sob 
reached  her  throat,  but  she  held  it  there. 

"  Funny  ? "  expostulated  her  father.  "  Who 
said  that  it  was  funny  ?  Choose  your  words,  child, 
choose  your  words.  Don't  be  a  barbarian  in 
speech,  even  though  you  do  live  like  a  squirrel  or 
a  Chippewa.  Humor,  remember,  is  a  generic 
term.  Now,  fun  —  There  's  Mrs.  Green  with 
Chevalier.  Keep  him  away  from  the  veranda, 
Katherine  ;  he  '11  tangle  my  lines  !  " 

Mrs.  Green  climbed  the  veranda  steps,  laugh 
ing.  Her  ample  sides  were  formed  for  laughter, 
and  responded  with  frequency  to  their  manifest 
role.  "  Ephraim  's  out  trimmin'  the  hedge  by  the 
chicken  coop,  again,  doctor,"  she  said.  "  I  tell 
him  that 's  his  knittin'  work,  trimmin'  that  hedge  ; 
he  does  it  whenever  he  gets  kind  of  worked  up, 
just  as  I'd  sit  down  to  round  off  the  toe  of  a 


THE  HOUSE  ON  THE  BLUFF  39 

stockin'.  And  he  wants  to  know  whether  it  ain't 
a  good  time  to  kill  that  old  goose.  He  ain't  a 
mite  of  use  to  us,  and  he  's  got  a  dreadful  appetite 
for  corn." 

Dr.  Edmister  frowned.  "  This  is  n't  the  season 
for  roast  goose,"  he  said  somewhat  shortly,  "  and 
he  is  n't  doing  any  harm.  You  should  mention  the 
matter  in  the  autumn." 

Mrs.  Green  looked  comfortably  resigned  to  the 
expected.  "  I  did,"  she  said,  with  a  placid  nod. 
"  You  know  you  said  that  we  better  wait  because 
the  feathers  would  be  better  in  the  spring.  No, 
the  goose  ain't  no  harm,  except  that  it  kind  of 
bothers  Ephraim  to  have  him  around.  He  sort  of 
litters  up  the  chicken  coop,  he  's  so  big.  Ephraim 
would  like  to  have  the  geese  and  hens  all  one  size, 
so  they  'd  look  neater  on  the  perches.  You  '11  have 
to  look  out  for  Chevalier,  Katherine.  He  snapped 
at  the  berry-boy  real  vicious  to-day." 

Chevalier,  who  had  jumped  into  the  circle  of 
Katherine's  arms,  lifted  a  quivering  nose  at  the 
sound  of  his  name,  then  pushed  closer  to  his  refuge. 
The  inordinate  length  of  bushy  tail,  which  he 
carried  curled  over  his  back  like  a  squirrel's,  spoke 
his  dubious  race,  but  there  was  nothing  mongrel 
in  his  mental  composition,  and  the  eyes  hidden 
under  Katherine's  arm  were  hungrily  questioning 
and  tender. 

The  girl  caressed  him  absently.  "  Chevalier  's 
a  patrician  to  his  paws,"  she  said.  "  He  does  n't 
like  bare  feet.  I  'd  like  to  know  where  he  formu 
lated  his  conventions.  Mrs.  Green,  Mr.  Proctor 


40  THE  LEGATEE 

—  from  the  mill,  you  know  —  is  coming  to  spend 
the  evening  with  father.  I  'm  going  to  take  my 
books  and  sit  with  you.  May  I  ?  " 

"  Land,  yes  !  You  're  always  welcome ;  you 
know  that ;  and  Ephraim  lots  on  having  you  come 
to  our  room,  but "  —  Mrs.  Green  turned  to  Dr. 
Edmister,  and  looked  interrogative. 

When  the  lash  seemed  needful,  Dr.  Edmister 
could  use  it  with  a  calm  disdain  that  older  wills 
than  Katherine's  had  quailed  before. 

"  If  my  daughter  may  sit  with  you  this  evening," 
he  said  with  stately  courtesy,  "  I  shall  be  grateful. 
Mr.  Proctor  is,  I  believe,  unused  to  children,  and 
I  wish  him  to  have  a  pleasant  visit." 


CHAPTER  V 

THE  GAME   OF  CHESS 

JUNE  is  but  fickle  in  the  north-land,  and  the 
forest  path,  teeming  with  radiant  color  in  the  after 
noon,  was  a  maze  of  elfin  shadowings  when  Mr. 
Proctor  climbed  the  hill. 

He  climbed  it  rapidly,  for  his  one  talk  with  Dr. 
Edmister  had  stirred  a  wish  for  more.  The  stormy 
Katherine  he  had  dropped  from  his  thought,  now 
that  Dr.  Edmister  had  proved  companionable.  The 
girl  had  been  of  moment  only  when  she  seemed  an 
index  of  her  father's  mind. 

Dr.  Edmister  met  him  at  the  door,  and  welcomed 
him  with  kindly  phrase.  The  large  low  room, 
aglow  from  the  red-shaded  lamp  upon  the  reading 
table,  was  simple  of  furnishing,  but  the  books  and 
pictures  that  crowded  its  walls  pointed  sharp  con 
trasts  to  the  life  that  lay  in  the  village  below.  It 
is  sometimes  good  to  have  been  lonely  —  when  the 
loneliness  is  over.  Dr.  Edmister' s  eyes,  trained  in 
the  lore  of  facial  changes,  missed  nothing  of  the 
alert  enjoyment  in  his  guest's  look,  and  it  was  food 
to  his  one  vanity  as  a  scholar.  The  two  men  were 
strangers  ;  but  with  the  chessboard  between  them 
and  the  books  about  them,  they  were  perilously 
near  to  becoming  sudden  friends. 


42  THE  LEGATEE 

The  game  progressed  with  varying  changes  for 
two  hours  ;  then  an  unwary  move  of  Mr.  Proctor's 
left  the  field  to  his  adversary. 

Dr.  Edmister  pushed  the  board  to  one  side  with 
an  ejaculation  of  content.  "It  is  a  pleasure  to 
win  from  you,"  he  said,  "but  one  that  I  must 
make  the  most  of  this  time.  I  shall  not  have  it 
often.  You  have  been  playing  to-night  with  half 
your  mind  elsewhere ;  when  you  recall  that  half, 
the  score  will  be  reversed." 

Mr.  Proctor  smiled  his  denial.  "  It  is  good  of 
you  to  make  excuse,  but  I  was  not  inattentive, 
only  stupid.  I  've  had  to  eat  and  sleep  mill  for  a 
month,  and,  given  a  rut,  my  mind  's  not  a  detach 
able  organ." 

The  doctor  looked  sudden  comprehension.  "  Are 
things  going  smoothly?"  he  asked,  pushing  back 
in  his  easy  chair. 

"  Fairly.  It 's  new  work,  and  I  don't  know  that 
I  understand  my  material." 

"  Men  or  lumber  ?  " 

"  Both ;  though,  so  far  as  the  men  are  concerned, 
I  've  a  good  superintendent." 

Dr.  Edmister  balanced  a  pipe  on  his  hand,  offer 
ing  another  to  his  guest.  "  Yes,  Cole 's  a  good 
man,"  he  presently  said  ;  "  bigoted,  perhaps,  but 
capable  and  hard  working.  Are  these  labor 
troubles  likely  to  affect  you  ?  " 

Mr.  Proctor  smoked  for  a  moment.  "  I  hardly 
know,"  he  answered.  There  was  a  new  inflection 
in  his  voice.  The  word  "  labor  "  brought  to  him 
again  the  burden  he  had  for  the  moment  laid 


THE  GAME  OF  CHESS  43 

aside,  —  a  sordid  burden,  to  his  thinking,  —  and  a 
gossamer  of  reserve  blew  across  his  consciousness. 
"  There  's  an  undercurrent  at  work,"  he  went  on ; 
"  just  what,  I  'm  uncertain.  But  I  've  not  given 
it  much  thought ;  I  doubt  that  it 's  important.  It 
can't  be  that  these  men  read  the  papers,  and  labor 
troubles  are  largely  imitative.  Then  remember 
that  I  've  a  tower  of  Babel  down  there.  Ten  na 
tionalities  would  hardly  agree  on  one  plan." 

Dr.  Edmister  studied  his  guest.  "But  Babel 
had  a  strife  of  tongues,"  he  warned.  "  Diversity 
of  blood  may  still  mean  unity.  The  case  of  servant 
against  master  is  an  old  one  ;  it 's  a  stronger  bond 
than  any  tie  of  race." 

The  younger  man  smiled.  "  They  're  an  uncouth 
people,"  his  hand  brushed  away  the  subject  as  if 
it  soiled  him,  "  and  are  probably  kinder  in  intent 
than  their  words  would  seem.  Certainly  the  sin 
of  dissimulation  is  not  theirs." 

The  doctor's  face  was  non-committal.  "  I  am 
much  out  of  touch  with  any  active  phase  of  the 
village  life,"  he  said  at  length.  "  It  has  seemed 
wise  to  me  to  hold  myself  to  the  strictly  neutral 
role  of  physician.  The  souls  and  mentalities  of 
the  people  are  already  cared  for  —  with  zeal,  if  not 
discretion.  You  've  met  Paul  Livingstone  ?  " 

"  Only  casually.  He  comes  to  the  mill  a  good 
deal,  and  talks  with  the  men." 

Dr.  Edmister  caught  the  restraint  in  the  other's 
voice,  and  answered  it.  "  Livingstone  won't  trou 
ble  you,"  he  said  with  easy  optimism.  "  He  may 
be  rude  —  he 's  a  zealot,  and  has  the  limitations  of 


44  THE  LEGATEE 

his  environment  —  but  he 's  conscientious.  Then, 
too,  he  's  a  religious  fanatic,  not  a  labor  reformer." 
The  younger  man  looked  thoughtful.  "  The  two 
seem  oddly  mingled,"  he  said,  as  if  formulating 
his  thought  for  the  first  time.  "  Religion,  labor, 
personal  antagonism, — all  seem  names  for  one 
motive.  I  overheard  a  young  Swede  yesterday 
haranguing  a  group  of  men  at  the  lunch  hour,  and 
it  was  hard  to  tell  what  moved  his  audience  most, 

—  his  arguments  for  the  eight-hour  law,  his  lurid 
picture  of  the  doom  of  sinners,  or  his  personal  ar 
raignment  of  me." 

"  Personal  ?  " 

"The  sins  of  the  forbears."  Mr.  Proctor's 
smile  was  enigmatic.  "  I  'm  less  an  individual  to 
these  men,  I  find,  than  the  exponent  of  a  princi 
ple.  Oh,  the  boy  was  eloquent  on  the  general  idea 
that  white  men  should  not  submit  to  the  whip  of 
the  overseer  —  myself  as  overseer  —  that  slavery 
should  not  be  wiped  out  at  the  South  to  flourish  in 
the  free  air  of  the  North.  He  was  really  effective 

—  in  view  of  his  audience.     I  was  sorry  that  the 
prejudice  against  listening  in  hiding  prevented  my 
hearing  more.    He  stopped,  of  course,  when  he  saw 
me." 

"  Who  was  the  man  ?  " 

"  One  of  the  hands  in  the  yards.  I  had  n't  no 
ticed  him  till  yesterday.  Torstenson  is  his  name." 

Dr.  Edmister  whistled  softly.  "  Yngve  Tor- 
stenson  !  "  he  ejaculated.  "  That 's  bad.  I  '11  have 
to  set  Karen  after  him.  That's  a  good  family, 
industrious  and  frugal.  Ole,  the  father,  is  as 


THE  GAME  OF  CHESS  45 

straight  as  a  die.  I  wonder  who 's  been  after  the 
boy !  Go  to  the  house  and  talk  to  him.  He  's  a 
weak-willed  youngster  —  oh,  I  've  known  him  since 
his  kite  and  marble  days  —  but  he  's  quick-witted. 
It  would  pay  you  to  get  hold  of  him." 

Mr.  Proctor  bowed  absent  assent.  "  Don't  look 
around,  Dr.  Eduiister,"  he  said  evenly,  "  but 
there 's  a  man's  face  looking  in  at  the  end  window. 
I  've  been  watching  him  for  some  minutes.  You  '11 
have  to  turn  quickly  to  see  him ;  he  dodges  when 
you  move." 

Dr.  Edmister  leaned  languidly  back  in  his  chair, 
then  whirled  with  the  recoil  of  a  released  spring. 
The  face  in  the  window  was  too  slow,  and  the 
doctor  gave  an  exclamation  of  relief  and  annoy 
ance. 

"  The  impertinent  idiot !  "  he  exclaimed  under 
his  breath,  and  going  to  the  door  opened  it  with  a 
jerk. 

"  Adrien,"  he  called,  "  Adrien,  come  here  !  " 
The  crash  of  breaking  boughs  was  the  only  an 
swer,  and  his  forehead  seamed  with  annoyance. 
"  The  most  unaccountable  place,  and  the  most  un 
accountable  people,"  he  grumbled.  "  That  was 
Adrien  Lauzeone.  The  young  man  needs  a  lesson ; 
he  's  an  odd  lad." 

"  I  know  Adrien,"  said  Mr.  Proctor  somewhat 
briefly.  "  I  thought  it  was  he  at  first,  then  con 
cluded  I  was  mistaken.  He  looked  so  "  —  He 
took  up  his  pipe,  and  left  the  sentence  unfinished. 

"  So  unpleasant  ?  "  supplied  the  doctor. 

"  Well,  so  far  from  amiable,  at  the  least,"  Mr. 


46  THE  LEGATEE 

Proctor  admitted.  "What  do  you  suppose  was 
the  matter?" 

"  Anything  from  a  toothache  to  a  north  wind," 
said  the  doctor  easily.  "  These  Belgians  show 
their  peasant  blood  in  "their  lack  of  self-control. 
They  fly  in  a  black  rage  over  nothing,  and  they 
all  look  like  stage  brigands.  He  may  have  wanted 
Katherine  to  help  him  with  his  lessons.  Kather- 
ine  is  my  daughter,  Mr.  Proctor,  —  hardly  an  old 
enough  daughter  to  dispense  the  courtesies  of  the 
home,  —  she  is  still  a  schoolgirl,  —  but  too  old  for 
the  license  of  a  child.  Hence  you  have  not  met 
her  this  evening."  The  sudden  reserve  in  the 
doctor's  tone  struck  the  first  dissonance. 

"  But  I  have  met  your  daughter  —  at  George 
Cole's,"  said  the  young  man  with  an  effort.  The 
comprehension  in  his  host's  face  made  the  courteous 
speech  that  was  in  his  mind  seem  insincere,  and  he 
withheld  it. 

Dr.  Edmister  looked  up,  and  amusement  can 
celed  his  momentary  annoyance.  "  Yes,  she  told 
me."  The  emphasis  that  he  gave  the  words  stood 
for  the  explanation  he  forbore  to  make.  "  I  'm 
sorry  if  she  seemed  discourteous,  but  remember  she 
is  a  child,  and  the  life  you  laughed  at  is  the  only 
one  that  she  has  known." 

Mr.  Proctor's  hand  stopped  him.  "  I  am  the 
one  who  should  apologize.  But  did  she  feel  that  I 
laughed  at  her  ?  I  assure  you  "  — 

"  Not  at  her ;  that  would  have  been  much  less 
serious."  The  doctor  smiled  with  reminiscent 
enjoyment.  "No,  her  tale  was  not  of  her  own 


THE  GAME  OF  CHESS  47 

wrongs,"  and  he  repeated  the  conversation  of  the 
afternoon.  He  told  it  brilliantly,  and  it  assumed 
importance.  That  he  was  talking  to  a  responsive 
listener  did  not  in  the  least  increase  the  pungency 
of  his  narration ;  he  would  have  talked  with  equal 
fluency  to  Mrs.  Green.  The  mind  that  he  was  in 
reality  addressing  was  that  of  the  woman  who  had 
been  his  wife,  and  though  its  quick  response  had 
failed  to  answer  his  for  many  years,  he  carried  the 
memory  of  its  companionship  with  him,  and  was, 
despite  his  surroundings,  reasonably  happy  and  con 
tent. 

Mr.  Proctor  listened  intently,  but  with  less 
amusement  than  the  tale  deserved.  "  She  told  it 
from  my  standpoint,"  he  said  perplexedly,  "and 
gave  me  the  best  of  it.  Yet  she  was  vexed." 

Dr.  Edmister  sobered  at  the  gravity  of  the  oth 
er's  tone. 

"  Don't  try  to  reconcile  a  child's  moods,"  he 
protested.  "  She  is  an  irrational  little  piece,  and 
needs  a  woman's  companionship.  She  would  n't 
have  been  so  defensive  if  it  had  been  any  one  but 
George  Cole.  She 's  true  to  her  sex  in  her  bolster 
ing  of  idols." 

"  I  saw  that  she  was  fond  of  Mr.  Cole.  His  wish 
seemed  law." 

"  There 's  a  story  behind  that,"  said  the  doctor, 
with  a  change  of  look.  "  Some  years  ago  —  four, 
to  be  accurate  —  we  had  malignant  diphtheria  in 
the  village.  It  was  a  black  time.  We  were  a  hun 
dred  miles  from  a  hospital.  There  were  forty  cases 
in  one  week.  I  don't  often  talk  of  that  week,  for 


48  THE  LEGATEE 

I  know  that  if  I  had  been  ten  men  instead  of  one 

—  well,  I  did  what  I  could.     But  I  had  two  helpers 

—  two  only  —  George  Cole  and  Heinrich  at  the 
lighthouse."     The  memory  drove  the  doctor  to  the 
window ;  it  was  dark  without,  but  he  looked  for  a 
time  in  silence.     "  In  all  this  village,"  he  resumed, 
turning  finally,  "  in  all  that  time  of  fear  and  horror, 
those  two,  alone,  quitted  themselves  like  men.    The 
others  —  the  few  who  had  semblance  of  manhood 
and  tried  to  make  excuse  —  said  they  had  children. 
Heinrich  has  a  crippled  child,  a  girl,  and  mother 
less.     Perhaps  Katherine  has  some  excuse." 

The  younger  man  said  nothing.  He  had  seen 
Heinrich's  crippled  daughter,  and  the  memory 
made  the  reality  of  the  doctor's  story  uncomfort 
ably  keen. 

"  However,"  said  the  doctor  at  length,  —  he  had 
come  back  to  the  table,  and  his  tone  was  light,  — 
"  that  is  a  bygone  tale.  There  are  good  men  in  the 
village ;  yes,  good  men,  as  the  warp  of  humanity 
runs.  I  told  the  story  to  explain  my  daughter's 
attitude.  She  is  an  impressionable  child  —  which 
is  one  reason  why  I  climbed  this  hilltop  for  a  home. 
I  saw  your  wonder  as  I  drew  you  in  from  the  dark 


ness." 


"  I  marveled  how  your  patients  reached  you." 
"  Wait  till  you  see  the  path  in  the  daytime. 
There 's  healing  in  its  beauty.     As  to  my  patients, 
I  have  the  ailments  of  the  people  well  catalogued. 
I  know,  as  a  rule,  where  I  '11  be  wanted." 

"  But  in  case  of  accidents  —  at  the  mill,  for  in 
stance  ?  " 


THE  GAME  OF  CHESS  49 


"  One  stroke  of  the  schoolhouse  bell  means  an 
accident.  Not  a  child  in  the  township  but  knows 
that,  and  could  call  me.  Surgical  cases  are  piti 
fully  common,  thanks  to  your  saws.  But  enough 
of  that.  It 's  not  good  fuel  for  an  evening  pipe." 

They  smoked  for  a  time  in  silence,  their  thoughts 
busy  with  themselves  and  with  each  other.  Some 
what  of  the  gracious  calm  of  a  great  forest  falls  on 
those  who  live  within  its  thrall. 

Mr.  Proctor  roused  himself  first,  with  a  guilty 
awakening  to  the  lateness  of  the  hour. 

"  I  must "  —  he  began,  but  was  cut  short  by  the 
clanging  stroke  of  a  bell.  One  stroke  !  No  reso 
nance  softened  the  rude  warning,  and  it  tore  the 
soft  quiet  of  the  night. 

Mr.  Proctor's  eyes  leaped  to  his  host.  They  met 
no  answering  look.  Dr.  Edmister  was  already  at 
the  door,  his  medicine  case  in  hand. 

"  Bring  the  lantern  !  "  he  called  back.  "  It  hangs 
on  a  nail  by  the  front  door.  Put  out  the  lights, 
lock  the  door,  and  bring  the  key  !  "  The  last  words 
came  faintly  from  the  distance. 

Mr.  Proctor  obeyed.  Some  yards  from  the  bot 
tom  of  the  trail  he  overtook  the  doctor.  The  elder 
man  nodded,  —  both  were  too  breathless  for  speech, 
—  and  they  pushed  on,  side  by  side. 

"  Where  do  we  go  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Proctor  when 
breathing  became  less  a  pain. 

"  A  messenger  should  be  here ;  there  he  is  now." 

A  man  waiting  at  the  foot  of  the  path  started 
forward.  The  swinging  lantern  showed  a  short 
twisted  figure  and  bushy  hair. 


60  THE  LEGATEE 

"  Come,  Lars,"  said  the  doctor,  with  no  break  in 
the  swing  of  his  stride.  "  Who  is  it  ?  Where  ?  " 

"It's  Yngve,  sir  —  Yngve  Torstenson.  And 
he 's  hurt  in  his  head  by  —  he  was  knocked  down, 
sir.  We  was  at  a  meeting  over  the  feed  store." 

"Torstenson's?" 

"Yes,  sir."      . 

"  Is  he  badly  hurt  ?  " 

"He's  awful  bloody,"  said  the  man  fearfully. 
"  I  could  n't  see  plain."  He  drew  nearer,  and  his 
voice  essayed  a  whisper.  "Will  you  send  him 
home  first  ?  "  His  crooked  finger  indicated  Mr. 
Proctor. 

The  doctor  did  not  answer,  but  he  laid  his  hand 
on  Mr.  Proctor's  arm  with  a  pressure  which  said 
"  stay,"  and  the  quickened  speed  of  his  step  taxed 
his  companion's  endurance. 

The  stairs  that  led  to  the  loft  over  the  feed  store 
were  in  the  back  of  the  building,  and  as  the  trio 
picked  their  way  among  the  sacks  of  grain  and 
flour,  the  swelling  roar  of  voices  in  the  room  above 
sounded  ominous. 

The  doctor  led  the  way  up  the  narrow  stair  in 
strides  that  seemed  to  scorn  the  intervening  medium 
of  steps,  and  entered  a  low-raftered  room,  dimly 
lighted  with  smoking  lamps.  The  men  —  there 
were  too  many  to  count  at  a  glance  —  were  gathered 
in  a  huddled  circle  about  a  figure  lying  in  the  centre 
of  the  room,  and  they  started  at  the  doctor's  ap 
proach.  He  gave  them  a  quick  look,  but  their  eyes 
had  left  him  to  dwell  on  Mr.  Proctor.  Plainly  this 
last  arrival  was,  to  their  minds,  an  uninvited  guest, 


THE  GAME  OF  CHESS  51 

and  the  doctor's  look  of  command  grew  more  pro 
nounced. 

"  Proctor,"  he  called  authoritatively,  "  close  the 
door,  and  see  that  no  one  goes  out !  Stand  back 
there,  men  !  "  and  he  was  on  his  knees  beside  the 
figure  on  the  floor. 

Yngve  Torstenson  had  somewhat  of  his  sister's 
coloring,  but  the  blood-smirched  head  now  lying  on 
Heinrich's  arm  bore  little  suggestion  of  the  blonde 
beauty  of  Karen's  face. 

The  doctor  looked  grave.  "  Bring  a  lantern,"  he 
commanded  shortly,  and  the  examination  began. 

The  strained  hush  of  the  room  was  broken  only 
by  the  half-strangled  breathing  of  the  men,  and  the 
doctor's  voice,  which  at  length  ended  the  silence, 
sounded  startlingly  abrupt. 

"  It 's  only  "  —  he  began  as  he  rose,  then  came 
to  a  full  stop,  and  studied  the  faces  about  him  with 
deliberation.  "  You  've  given  me  some  exercise," 
he  said.  There  was  something  in  the  glances  that 
met  his  that  hardened  his  voice.  "  It 's  not  your 
fault  that  I  have  n't  a  pretty  surgical  case  on  hand. 
A  little  more  to  the  right  and  —  Who  did  it  ?  " 

The  men  made  no  answer  ;  a  few  turned  away. 

"  Is  it  bad,  doctor  ?  "  It  was  Heinrich's  voice, 
from  his  place  on  the  floor ;  he  still  held  young 
Torstenson's  head  in  his  arms. 

The  doctor's  glance  softened.  "Bad?  No.  It's 
only  a  scalp  wound,  and  he  '11  be  out  in  a  day, 
but "  —  his  voice  growing  sterner  —  "I  want  to 
know  who  did  it.  It  was  a  good  job.  Don't  be 
ashamed  of  your  handiwork.  I  did  n't  know  there 


52  THE  LEGATEE 

was  a  man  of  you  strong  enough  to  knock  Yngve 
Torstenson  down.  Speak  out !  " 

"I  did  it,  doctor."  The  voice  was  again  Hein- 
rich's,  and  the  doctor  started. 

"  Heinrich  J  "  he  exclaimed.  Few  people  in 
Wilsonport  had  heard  that  tone  in  Dr.  Edmister's 
voice.  It  held  both  protest  and  appeal. 

The  wounded  man  opened  his  eyes.  "  Don't 
you  "  —  he  began,  but  Dr.  Edmister  stooped  to  lay 
a  hand  upon  his  lips. 

"Lie  still,  Yngve,"  he  said.  "  We  '11  take  you 
home  in  a  minute.  Now,  men,"  —  he  straight 
ened  himself  once  more,  —  "  is  this  true  ?  " 

The  men  before  him  nodded  a  slow  assent.  To 
Mr.  Proctor,  in  the  background,  their  reluctance 
seemed  sullen. 

Dr.  Edmister's  look  dropped.  "  You  say  that 
you  struck  this  boy,  Heinrich  ?  "  The  incredulity 
of  his  tone  would  not  be  stilled. 

"  Yes,  doctor." 

"How?" 

Heinrich 's  glance  flinched  at  the  brevity  of  the 
question,  but  he  replied  in  kind.  "  I  knocked  him 
down.  His  head  hit  the  edge  of  the  woodbox." 

The  woodbox  was  built  of  heavy  jagged  timbers, 
and  Mr.  Proctor  looked  at  it  with  shrinking.  Yet 
Heinrich's  eyes  were  asking  him  for  reassurance, 
and  he  smiled.  Later  he  wondered  at  his  swift 
response,  for  the  scene  seemed  useless  and  de 
grading. 

The  doctor's  gaze  in  the  mean  time  had  not  stirred 
from  the  man  on  the  floor.  "  You  might  have 
killed  him,  Heinrich." 


THE  GAME  OF  CHESS  53 

"  I  know,"  Heinrich  answered  quietly,  and  rais 
ing  his  eyes  he  met  the  doctor's  glance.  The  two 
men  studied  each  other  long,  and  the  doctor  turned 
away  with  a  look  that  made  him  younger. 

"  Take  that  door  off  its  hinges,"  he  said  to  Lars 
Olson.  "  We  '11  use  it  for  a  stretcher.  Now,  men, 

—  don't  leave,  any  of  you,  — how  did  it  happen?  " 
There  was   no   answer.     Again   the   heavy  faces 
turned   aside.     Dr.   Edmister   eyed   them   merci 
lessly.     "  I  'in  tired  of  this  nonsense."     His  voice 
was  growing  trumpet  clear.     "  Xavier  Lauzeone, 
you  're  a  man  of  sense.     What  does  this  mean  ?  " 

The  Belgian  turned  an  immovable  face.  "I 
have  forgotten,"  he  answered. 

The  doctor  drew  his  breath  through  his  teeth, 
and  resumed  his  scrutiny.  Each  face  bore  the 
same  answer.  "  You  have  forgotten,"  he  repeated 
slowly.  "  Have  you  forgotten,  Heinrich?  " 

Heinrich  again  raised  his  steady  eyes.  "  Yes, 
doctor,"  he  answered  gravely,  "  I  have  forgotten." 

The  doctor's  years  had  taught  his  face  control. 
He  looked  across  at  Mr.  Proctor,  and  the  ghost 
of  a  smile  showed  its  white  shimmer  in  his  eyes. 
Why  this  dark  importance  ?  Comedy  hung  close 
upon  their  heels  to-night. 

Mr.  Proctor's  look  was  guarded.  "  Mr.  Living 
stone  may  be  able  to  tell  us  something,"  he  sug 
gested.  His  bow  brought  the  schoolmaster  into 
sudden  view.  "  His  memory  —  trained,  of  course 

—  may  be  less  treacherous." 

Dr.  Edmister  exclaimed,  "  Livingstone !  I 
did  n't  see  you."  He  checked  the  welcome  on  his 
lips.  "  Surely  you,  too  "  — 


54  THE  LEGATEE 

"  Have  not  forgotten  ?  "  Livingstone  caught  at 
the  words  defiantly.  "  No.  And  what  I  have  not 
forgotten  I  wish  to  tell." 

The  men  closed  about  him.  "  No ! "  they 
shouted.  "  Keep  still  !  Keep  still,  on  your  life  !  " 

The  schoolmaster  did  not  flinch.  "  I  do  not 
'  keep  still  on  my  life,'  "  he  said  impressively, 
"  but  because  I  am  not  sure  that  the  time  is  ripe 
for  speech."  His  eyes  surprised  the  amusement 
in  Mr.  Proctor's  glance,  and  his  breath  came 
quickly.  Then  the  mill-owner  turned  away  negli 
gent,  smiling,  and  the  doctor  interposed. 

"  Mr.  Livingstone  may  perhaps  recall  the  pur 
pose  of  this  meeting,"  he  observed.  "His  pre 
sence  here  proves  it  of  importance." 

"  It  was  a  political  meeting,"  said  Mr.  Living 
stone.  His  voice  was  studiously  reticent.  He 
would  give  Mr.  Proctor  no  opportunity  to  repeat 
that  look  of  half -wearied  disdain. 

"Politics  and  broken  heads,"  murmured  the 
doctor.  "  Consistent  enough.  Help  me  here, 
some  of  you  men  !  You  can  take  this  young  man 
on  a  stretcher  in  state.  The  exertion  will  be  good 
for  you.  Your  memories  need  a  tonic." 

The  alacrity  of  the  men  spoke  their  joy  at  re 
lease.  Evidently  they  found  the  air  of  myster}' 
heavy  breathing.  The  doctor  followed,  but  turned 
at  the  top  of  the  stairs. 

"  Xavier  Lauzeone  !  "  he  took  the  Belgian  by 
the  sleeve,  and  motioned  to  the  room  within. 
"  Look  at  Adrien.  This  is  no  place  for  him.  You 
are  shrewd  enough  to  know  better.  Send  him 


THE  GAME  OF  CHESS  55 

away  to  school  before  he  gets  into  mischief.  He 
came  to  my  house  to-night ;  stared  into  my  win 
dows,  and  ran  like  a  thief  when  I  saw  him.  Send 
him  away." 

Lauzeone's  eyes  justified  Dr.  Edmister's  epithet. 
"  There  's  mischief  in  schools,  too,"  he  grumbled, 
with  a  shrug,  "  and  when  Adrien  went  to  your 
house  to-night  Proctor  was  there  first.  Why  go 
in— tell  me!" 

The  doctor  turned  away.  "  I  '11  tell  you  that 
you  're  playing  with  sharp  tools  when  you  use  Mr. 
Proctor's  name  lightly,"  he  said ;  "  but  look  out 
for  your  own  hurts.  Only  follow  my  advice  with 
Adrien." 

Mr.  Proctor,  meanwhile,  had  left  the  building, 
and  Dr.  Edmister  hurried  after  him.  Yet  it  was 
a  moment  before  either  spoke. 

"  Well  ?  "  the  doctor  said. 

The  young  man  laughed.  "  I  am  much  your 
debtor."  There  was  new  elasticity  in  his  voice, 
and  the  doctor  looked  at  him. 

"  You  are  not  curious  ?  "  he  asked. 

Proctor  shook  his  head.  "  Is  n't  it  obvious  ?  " 
he  asked  in  turn.  "  Men  of  this  stamp  —  they  're 
children  —  crave  melodrama.  They  are  driven  by 
their  life  here  to  create  their  own  stage  illusions. 
What  does  it  mean  to  you  ?  " 

The  doctor  was  grave.  "It  means  that  you 
have  other  games  of  chess  to  play,"  he  said  slowly. 
"  Human  pawns  is  an  old  simile  ;  it  comes  to  me 


CHAPTER  VI 

WHILE   THE   SUN   SHONE 

THE  next  morning  dawned  cloudless  and  calm. 
No  curl  of  white  broke  the  beryl-tinted  surface  of 
the  lake,  where  rounding  billows  swayed  like  giant 
cradles,  and  the  plash  of  the  swells  on  the  sand 
was  murmurous  as  a  dove's  note. 

Mr.  Proctor  stood  at  his  open  window  exulting 
in  the  caress  of  the  air.  The  crude  hard  outlines 
of  the  settlement,  that  had  beat  upon  his  nerves 
like  hammer  strokes  on  metal,  were  softened  to 
beauty  in  this  flood  of  amber  light,  and  an  unrea 
soning  feeling  of  home  comfort  and  content  wiped 
out  the  memory  of  the  night  before.  The  air 
pulsed  with  peace. 

Jessie  brought  in  the  breakfast  with  a  grudging 
curve  of  the  lips  that  strove  hard  to  be  a  smile. 

"  It 's  a  weather  breeder,"  she  said,  after  dismal 
scrutiny  of  the  glowing  out  of  doors,  then  added,  — 
less  as  an  afterthought  than  as  if  the  facts  bore 
dark  and  related  significance,  —  "  Karen  Torsten- 
son  's  been  hanging  round  the  gate  waiting  for 
you." 

Mr.  Proctor  left  his  half-finished  breakfast,  and 
went  with  quick  steps  down  the  plank  walk  that 
led  through  the  sand.  Why  Karen  ?  His  thoughts 


WHILE  THE   SUN  SHONE  57 

dragged  unwillingly  back  to  the  feed  loft  and  its 
sensational  mystery.  Were  here  more  complica 
tions  ? 

Karen  greeted  him  with  timorous  dimples. 
"  Yngve  told  me  to  come,"  she  prefaced  with  un 
wonted  hesitation. 

"  Is  he  "  —  The  man  stopped.  He  could  ask 
no  questions  till  he  knew  how  far  the  girl's  infor 
mation  went. 

"  Oh,  he  's  all  right,"  Karen  said  easily,  "  but  he 
wanted  me  to  see  you.  No,  I  can't  come  in.  Are 
you  going  to  the  mill  ?  I  '11  go  down  that  way." 

"  Let  us  go  to  the  beach,"  Mr.  Proctor  sug 
gested.  The  mill  looked  undesirably  near.  "  And 
now  what  can  I  do  for  Yngve  ?  " 

The  girl's  tongue  was  not  ready.  "  It 's  —  it 's 
—  Heinrich,"  she  stammered.  "You  won't  ar 
rest  "  — 

The  man  caught  the  last  word,  and  it  repelled 
him.  "  Arrest  him? "  he  echoed. 

"  Oh,  no,  no  !  "  In  her  eagerness  the  girl  placed 
a  hand  upon  his  arm.  "  That 's  what  Yngve  is 
afraid  of.  You  must  n't  arrest  Heinrich.  Yngve 
said  so.  He  said  I  must  coax  you  not  to  do  it." 

"  Coax  me  ?  My  dear  child,"  —  in  their  absorp 
tion  the  patronizing  epithet  passed  unnoticed, — 
"  I  've  nothing  to  do  with  it.  I  could  n't  arrest 
Heinrich  if  I  wished.  Your  brother  must  want 
something  else.  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  No,  that  was  all.  Will  you  promise  not  to  do 
anything?  You  are  the  boss.  I'll  tell  Yngve 
you  promised." 


58  THE  LEGATEE 

Her  pleading  flushed  her  cheeks  newly,  and  Mr. 
Proctor  met  temptation  to  magnify  his  preroga 
tives.  He  vanquished  it,  with  a  sigh  for  his  own 
moderation. 

"  Yes,  I  '11  promise,  if  you  wish.  But  what  was 
it  all  about,  Miss  Karen  ?  " 

At  the  word  "  promise  "  the  subject  had  blown 
from  Karen's  mind  like  thistle-down.  "I  don't 
know,"  she  said  indifferently.  She  turned  a  cheek 
whose  silken  pink  and  white  argued  the  futility  of 
aught  but  love  and  laughter.  "  But  Yngve  says 
it  'a  all  right." 

Mr.  Proctor  smiled  at  the  period  in  her  tone. 
Complications  had  no  place  here,  and  his  spirits 
again  tuned  to  the  morning.  "  I  had  a  sister 
too,"  he  said.  "  Let  us  sit  down  here  on  the  sand," 
—  he  was  in  the  clutch  of  an  impulse,  and  he  gave 
it  sway,  —  "  and  I  will  show  you  her  picture." 

"  I  can't."  Karen  looked  rueful.  "  I  Ve  got 
to  go  to  school.  This  is  the  last  week,  and  then 
I  '11  be  out  for  good.  Father  says  I  'm  too  big  to 
go  any  more." 

"  What  will  you  do  then  ?  Go  away  to 
school ?  " 

She  looked  faintly  amused  at  the  impropriety 
of  the  suggestion.  "  A  grown  girl  like  me  ?  Oh, 
I  '11  stay  at  home.  Father  says  he  '11  pay  me  if 
I  '11  help  tend  the  store." 

Mr.  Proctor  winced,  and  hurried  his  sister's 
picture  to  his  pocket.  His  good  sense  seemed  ever 
at  war  with  his  traditions.  He  was  tired  of  being 
a  battle-ground. 


WHILE  THE   SUN  SHONE  59 

They  found  Mr.  Livingstone  standing  at  the 
schoolhouse  door,  Katherine  beside  him.  The 
girl  held  a  paper,  covered  with  figures,  in  her  hand, 
and  her  face  was  dark  with  doubt.  "Oh,  why 
should  A  insist  on  giving  the  square  root  of  the 
nth  division  of  his  income  to  B  ?  "  they  heard  her 
lament.  "  I  'm  sure  it  does  n't  sound  nourishing." 

The  schoolmaster  did  not  hear  her.  He  was 
watching  the  approaching  figures,  and  his  closed 
hands  showed  white  knuckles. 

"  Good-morning,  Miss  Torstenson,"  he  said. 
He  gave  Mr.  Proctor  a  nod  that  was  a  cross  be 
tween  denial  of  his  presence  and  resentment  of  it. 
"  You  have  already  kept  us  waiting." 

Katherine's  eyebrows  betrayed  surprise,  and  her 
face  flushed.  The  next  moment  she  slipped  her 
hand  into  Karen's. 

"You  and  Mr.  Proctor  came  just  in  time  to 
save  Mr.  Livingstone,"  she  said  with  a  smile  that 
dwelt  longest  on  the  schoolmaster.  "  Algebra 
and  I  are  not  to  be  recommended  —  in  combina 
tion.  Will  you  show  Mr.  Proctor  that  problem  ? 
I  'm  sure  he  '11  agree  with  me  that  A  squandered 
his  substance  in  riotous  generosity." 

There  was  deference  in  her  voice  that  made  her 
nonsense  winning,  and  complacence  crowded  an 
noyance  in  Livingstone's  face. 

"  You  are  perhaps  a  mathematician  ? "  he 
asked  of  Mr.  Proctor.  His  tone  was  once  more 
ex  cathedra.  His  grasp  upon  his  regained  dignity 
was  none  the  less  secure  that  he  owed  it  to  a  girl's 
slight  hand. 


60  THE  LEGATEE 

Mr.  Proctor  smiled  his  denial  and  turned  away, 
but  Karen  followed  a  few  paces. 

"  I  hope  that  you  will  be  happy  here,"  she  said, 
and  she  held  out  her  hand. 

The  man  looked  at  her.  Her  cotton  dress  was 
as  blue  as  her  eyes,  and  the  sunshine  strayed  in 
her  hair. 

"I  am  happy,"  he  answered  with  unnecessary 
vehemence,  and  because  he  used  the  present  tense 
he  spoke  the  truth. 

At  his  office  he  found  Dr.  Edmister,  who  greeted 
him  with  a  comradeship  that  under  more  usual 
circumstances  years  alone  would  have  had  force 
to  justify. 

"  What  have  you  learned  of  last  night  ? "  he 
asked. 

"  Nothing  —  or  rather,  only  that  Yngve's  mood 
is  pacific." 

"  Yes,  I  've  just  seen  Yngve.  He  has  an  exalted 
vision  of  your  estate,  and  is  evidently  afraid  of  an 
investigation.  I  've  been  walking  through  the 
mill,  and  the  mental  air  is  balmy — suspiciously 
so.  That  affair  last  night  seems  to  have  been  a 
thunderstorm  that  cleared  the  air." 

Mr.  Proctor  drew  a  long  breath.  "  I  think  it 's 
the  weather.  We  're  all  more  amiable  this  morn 
ing.  This  air  is  too  strenuous  most  of  the  time 
to  admit  of  taking  life  lightly." 

"  It  is  a  fine  day  —  which  brings  me  to  my  er 
rand.  I  've  a  call  to  make  near  Birch  Creek. 
Would  you  like  to  drive  out  there  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  '11  go  with  pleasure.     Can  you  wait  till 


WHILE  THE  SUN  SHONE  61 

I  see  Cole  ?  If  you  go  near  the  shingle  mill,  I  '11 
speak  to  Detiere.  I  have  n't  been  out  there  but 
once  since  I  came.  Detiere  needs  very  little  super 
vision,  and  I  found  work  piled  up  here." 

The  doctor  nodded.  "  We  pass  the  mill.  I  '11 
drop  you  there,  and  make  my  call." 

Mr.  Proctor  came  back  from  his  interview  with 
his  superintendent  with  an  amused  perplexity  in 
his  smile.  "  You  're  right,"  he  commented.  "  The 
men  are  ingratiatingly  anxious  to  say  '  good-morn 
ing.'  I  find  this  sudden  popularity  upsetting." 

"  I  don't  like  it."  The  doctor's  troubled  look 
was  more  emphatic  than  his  speech.  "  I  liked  the 
men's  gruffness  better.  This  cordiality  marks  con 
trasts  ;  they  've  something  to  cover.  However, 
make  the  most  of  the  change." 

"  I  doubt  that  their  moods  have  so  much  signifi 
cance,"  said  Mr.  Proctor  easily.  "  I  'm  an  opti 
mist.  I  still  think  that  it 's  the  weather." 

"  I  hope  you  're  right."  The  doctor's  frown  re 
laxed.  "  I  'm  growing  old  and  suspicious.  I  've 
been  too  much  alone." 

They  drove  through  the  village  briskly,  for  ten 
miles  lay  between  Wilsonport  and  Birch  Creek. 
Near  the  schoolhouse  they  passed  Adrien  Lauze- 
one,  his  face  set  with  the  introspective  look  of  one 
to  whom  reveries  are  realities. 

The  doctor  checked  his  horse.  "  You  're  late, 
Adrien." 

The  boy  lifted  an  absorbed  face.  "  It  will  not 
matter.  Dr.  Edmister,  I  am  going  to  the  univer 
sity  in  the  fall.  Father  promised." 


62  THE  LEGATEE 

"  Good  !  Good  !  "  The  doctor  leaned  over,  and 
laid  a  hand  on  Adrien's  shoulder.  "  Make  the 
most  of  it,  my  lad." 

"  Why  did  I  call  Adrien  4 lad ' !  "  he  ejaculated 
as  they  drove  on.  "  That  is  a  trick  of  old  age.  I 
can't  keep  Katherine  young  by  dwarfing  her  com 
panions.  Well,  I'm  glad  that's  settled.  It  is 
one  responsibility  the  less." 

"  Or  one  the  greater  ?  " 

Dr.  Edmister  turned  at  the  tone.  "  You  think 
his  going  unwise  ?  " 

Mr.  Proctor's  eyes  and  answer  evaded  the  issue. 
"  We  were  talking  of  responsibilities.  Adrien's 
children  may  be  the  better,  but  what  of  him  ?  The 
transitional  generation  has  a  hard  time." 

"  It 's  been  bred  to  hard  times,"  said  the  doctor 
with  lessening  protest,  "and  it  has  unwearied 
brain  and  iron  muscle.  That 's  my  optimism,  if 
you  like.  I  have  faith." 

They  were  now  in  the  forest,  which  opened  to 
them  with  the  coolness  of  early  morning.  The 
grass-grown  ribbon  that  formed  the  road  twined 
through  tree  arches,  and  the  sunlight  dropped  in 
splashes  through  weaving  boughs.  Save  where  the 
roadside  gave  them  freedom,  the  moss-fringed 
pines  grew  close  packed  as  ranks  of  soldiery,  and 
the  moist  ground  beneath  held  in  its  mould  the  re 
cords  of  a  day  before  the  birth  of  time.  At  inter 
vals  the  forest  wall  swayed  inward  to  give  foothold 
to  a  clearing,  —  a  few  acres  where  blackened  stumps 
disputed  with  the  stunted  grain.  Each  clearing 
had  its  house,  and  at  the  sound  of  wheels,  the  log- 


WHILE  THE  SUN  SHONE  63 

framed  doors  blossomed  children  —  here  flaxen  as 
the  descendants  of  vikings ;  there  dark-browed  as 
Attila.  They  beleaguered  the  doctor's  way,  and 
he  called  them  by  name,  —  Hendreka,  Fran£ois, 
Odil,  Knud. 

"  They  are  my  children,"  he  said  in  response  to 
Mr.  Proctor's  surprise.  "  I  helped  bring  them 
into  the  world,  and  they  look  to  me  to  take  them 
through  it.  I  am  their  visible  Providence." 

"  The  Detieres  live  here,"  he  remarked,  as  they 
passed  an  unkempt  clearing.  "  Did  you  say  that 
Louis  had  charge  of  your  shingle  mill  ?  " 

«  Yes." 

"  Who  put  him  there  ?  " 

"  My  uncle,  I  think.  Possibly  Cole.  He  was 
there  when  I  came.  You  think  he's  not  trust 
worthy?" 

The  doctor  flicked  the  roadside  with  his  whip. 
"  He 's  a  handsome  animal.  I  did  n't  suppose  that 
he  could  keep  sober  long  enough  to  draw  his  pay. 
I  've  never  seen  him  work." 

"  He  's  drunk  every  Sunday,  Cole  tells  me,  but 
he  is  a  marvel  of  sobriety  while  the  mill 's  running. 
And  he  not  only  works  himself,  but  he  drives  the 
men.  They  seem  afraid  of  him." 

"  I  've  no  doubt  that  they  are.  He  has  an  ill- 
omened  reputation  for  skill  with  his  knife.  Do 
you  know  what  a  set  of  men  you  have  here  ?  " 

"  I  know  a  little  about  it  —  more  than  I  care  to 
hear.  They  tell  me  it 's  bedlam  on  Saturday 
nights.  In  the  mean  time  the  men  cut  my  shin 
gles."  Mr.  Proctor's  tone  spoke  frank  distaste. 


64  THE  LEGATEE 

The  doctor  turned  in  his  seat,  and  looked  sev 
eral  things  that  he  did  not  say. 

"You  are  an  epicure  still,"  he  commented  at 
length ;  and  when  the  young  man  ventured  to  pro 
test,  he  dropped  the  matter  with  a  smile. 

"  I  've  seen  Detiere  with  Ferdinante  Lauzeone 
more  than  I  like,"  the  doctor  said  later.  "Do 
you  know  the  girl  ?  " 

"  I  think  not.     Is  she  Adrien's  sister  ?  " 

"  Yes  —  a  year  or  two  older.  I  wish  that  she 
could  be  sent  to  school  instead  of  Adrien.  But 
that  the  family  would  n't  consider.  The  male  en 
throned  is  the  motto  of  these  people.  Ferdinante 
is  a  handsome  woman,  as  blonde  as  Adrien  is 
dark.  I  admit  that  she  and  Louis  Detiere  to 
gether  suggest  that  the  gods  have  come  down  from 
Olympus  —  and  left  their  brains  behind.  Detiere 
is  as  good  to  look  at  as  a  leopard  —  and  is  very 
like  one." 

The  settlement  of  Birch  Creek  proved  the  deso 
lation  man  can  accomplish.  Charred  stumps  had 
been  hacked  away  to  make  room  for  a  huddle  of 
buildings,  and  the  opening  was  wind-swept  and 
dreary.  A  mill  and  some  dozen  frame  houses 
formed  the  village,  and  the  buildings  crowded 
together  with  unwholesome  intimacy,  their  dark 
timbers  forbidding  and  unclean. 

"  A  squalid  hole !  "  ejaculated  Proctor,  as  they 
drove  along.  "  There  is  your  leopard,  doctor. 
More  like  a  Mrs.  Jarley's  Indian,  I  should  say." 

Leopard  or  Indian,  Detiere's  was  a  theatrical 
figure  —  six  feet  of  hard-knitted  bone  and  muscle 


WHILE  THE  SUN  SHONE  65 

erect  and  sinewed  as  a  bronze  cast.  At  sight  of 
the  two  men  his  strong  white  teeth  gleamed  in  a 
smile.  He  was  proud  of  the  mill. 

"  What 's  wrong  at  the  schoolhouse,  Detiere  ?  " 
asked  the  doctor,  as  he  stopped  for  Mr.  Proctor  on 
his  return.  "  Who  boarded  up  the  door  ?  " 

"Me."  The  man's  teeth  showed  undesirably 
now,  and  his  swart  face  grew  crimson. 

"  Oh !  "  said  the  doctor,  with  curving  inflections. 
"  What 's  the  trouble  ?  " 

Detiere  clenched  an  iron-muscled  hand  and 
struck  the  door-casing.  "  That  man  Livingstone," 
he  said,  with  oaths.  "  He  comes  here  and  has 
meetings.  He  makes  me  trouble.  There  is  no 
school.  So  !  When  he  comes  again  he  find  that 
I  make  fast  the  door,  and  ask  me  why.  See  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  think  that  I  see,"  returned  the  doctor. 
The  mental  picture  that  he  saw  moved  his  ready 
humor.  "  So  Livingstone 's  been  giving  you 
temperance  lectures.  Well,  I  never  denied  his 
bravery,  though  I  have  questioned  his  judgment. 
You  'd  better  take  your  board  down,  Detiere.  Mr. 
Livingstone  is  going  away  next  week,  and  I  may 
want  to  come  and  talk  to  you  myself." 

Detiere's  expression  altered.  "  You  say  he  go 
away  ?  And  you  say  you  come  to  talk  to  us  ?  "  He 
picked  up  a  board.  "  Then  I  do  this  to  the  board 
at  the  door !  "  He  snapped  the  wood  in  his  hands 
as  if  it  were  a  shaving.  "  I  do  this  for  the  doctor. 
See  ?  "  The  Belgian's  smile  was  dazzling. 

"  My  acquaintance  with  leopards  is  superficial," 
said  Proctor,  as  they  drove  home,  "  but  I  suppose 


66  THE  LEGATEE 

that  their  good-will  is  to  be  esteemed.     You  evi 
dently  have  Detiere's  confidence." 

The  doctor  slapped  his  reins  sharply.  "  I  don't 
want  it,"  he  protested.  "  The  feeling  is  not  recip 
rocal.  I  prefer  distrust  to  his  liking.  It  is  more 
of  a  compliment,  to  my  thinking." 


CHAPTER  VII 

THE   POT   OF  GOLD 

"  I  THINK  it  is  the  weather,"  Mr.  Proctor  had 
said,  and  the  weeks  succeeding  confirmed  his  care 
lessly  good-humored  faith. 

"  This  lull  is  an  anti-climax,"  he  complained  to 
Dr.  Edmister.  "  All  that  travesty  of  mystery  when 
I  first  came  prepared  me  for  a  stirring  life.  This 
is  as  sleepy  as  vacation  time." 

And  summer  was  vacation  time  in  very  truth. 
Wilsonport's  days  were  yellow  sunlight,  its  nights 
were  crystal  flashing  stars,  and  the  calendar  of  the 
weeks  was  written  to  the  melody  of  bird  song  and 
lapping  water. 

It  was  not  alone  that  the  gray  earth  smiled.  All 
animate  life  crept  out  at  the  touch  of  the  sun  and 
lived  to  the  uttermost  the  brief  days  between  the 
frosts.  The  forest  was  aflutter  with  wings  and 
moved  to  the  soft  stir  of  gentle-footed  creatures 
that  came  and  went  among  its  shadows.  Even 
self-absorbed  humanity  responded ;  the  village 
sitting-rooms  grew  musty  through  disuse  while 
their  owners  spent  the  golden  moments  of  their 
leisure  on  doorstep  or  beach. 

No  wonder  that  the  days  drifted  happily.  These 
weeks  of  outdoor  life  were  the  solvent  that  re- 


68  THE  LEGATEE 

moved  much  of  the  year's  accumulation  of  rancor 
and  misunderstanding,  and  life  became  less  arduous 
in  plan  and  meaning.  Mouths  curved  to  readier 
laughter  in  the  softer  air,  and  Mr.  Proctor  met 
no  unfriendliness  ;  more,  he  found  looks  of  greet 
ing.  He  was  perhaps  unaware  of  how  warmly  he 
smiled  in  turn.  The  witchery  of  the  solstice  was 
in  his  blood,  and  the  life  that  he  had  called  "  un 
couth  "  caught  transient  beauty. 

At  the  mill  the  men  worked  lazily,  but  with 
apparent  content.  If  the  meeting  in  the  feed  loft 
had  had  significance,  its  force  seemed  spent. 

But  Dr.  Edrnister  shook  his  head. 

"  A  lull  is  n't  a  calm,  Proctor,"  he  said.  "  It 's 
merely  a  negative  condition.  There  's  the  languor 
of  summer  to  reckon  with,  but  I  'm  convinced 
there 's  something  more.  Lifting  logs  and  lumber 
for  eleven  hours  does  n't  fit  a  man  for  thinking. 
Watch  your  men.  You  '11  see  that  they  are  too 
tired  at  night  to  talk,  much  less  to  foster  an  in 
dependent  idea.  I  don't  mean  that  they  have  n't 
brains,  —  only  men  of  force  would  attempt  a  pio 
neer's  life  in  this  wilderness,  —  but  physical  ex 
haustion  literally  compels  them  to  take  their  ideas 
at  second  hand.  The  question  is,  Who  has  been 
doing  their  thinking  for  them  ?  Whoever  he  is, 
he  's  keeping  quiet  for  a  time." 

The  men  were  sitting  on  Dr.  Edmister's  veranda, 
looking  off  over  the  village.  They  sat  together 
often  now,  and  Mr.  Proctor's  feet  had  learned  each 
winding  of  the  woodland  trail.  The  silence  that 
fell  after  the  last  remark  spoke  loudly  of  the  com 
radeship  between  them. 


THE   POT  OF  GOLD  69 

"  He  may  be  away  ? "  asked  Proctor  at  last. 
He  made  no  excuse  for  the  hiatus.  Indeed  his 
thoughts  were  elsewhere,  idly  following  a  blue-clad 
figure  that  had  left  the  village  for  the  path  along 
the  beach.  The  hue  suggested  Miss  Torstenson's 
holiday  attire.  Why  not  follow  ?  It  was  Sunday 
afternoon,  and  such  was  the  custom  of  the  village. 
The  summer  weeks  had  taught  him  a  somewhat 
detailed  knowledge  of  Karen's  wardrobe,  and  he 
could  not  be  mistaken  now. 

The  doctor  studied  his  finger  tips,  unconscious 
of  the  other's  lapse  of  thought.  "  So  you  think  that 
Livingstone  was  the  '  God  of  the  Machine  '  ?"  he 
answered.  "  Well,  it  looks  as  if  you  were  right, 
but  what  did  he  —  what  does  he  —  hope  to  gain  ? 
I  repeat  that  I  've  always  thought  him  honest.  I 
suppose  that  I  'm  unreasonable  in  this  matter,"  he 
went  on,  with  a  short  laugh,  "  but  the  fact  is,  that 
so  long  as  I  send  Katherine  to  the  village  school, 
I  'm  forced  to  believe  the  best  of  the  teacher.  It 's 
the  attitude  of  the  ostrich,  I  '11  admit,  but  I  don't 
know  what  else  to  do  with  Katherine,  so  have  no 
refuge  but  to  hide  my  head  so  long  as  the  sand 
holds  out." 

Mr.  Proctor  laughed  at  the  plaint  in  his  friend's 
tone  and  dropped  Karen  from  his  consciousness. 

"  Why  not  make  Livingstone  the  pupil  ?  "  he 
asked.  Katherine  had  just  passed,  and  the  mem 
ory  of  her  severely  composed  face  added  spice  to 
the  suggestion.  He  seldom  saw  the  doctor's  daugh 
ter,  but  when  he  did  her  eyes  assured  him  that  he 
was  a  cumbrance  to  the  ground.  "  That  arrange- 


70  THE  LEGATEE 

ment  would  be  much  to  the  young  man's  advan 
tage,"  he  pursued,  "  and  would  keep  your  daugh 
ter  busy.  I  've  seen  Miss  Katherine's  books.  It 
can't  be  that  Livingstone  can  teach  her  anything, 
and  I  think  that  she  'd  enjoy  implanting  a  few 
needed  lessons  in  his  mind." 

The  doctor  nodded  appreciatively.  "  Implanting 
lessons  would  suit  her  perfectly,"  he  said.  "  She  's 
at  the  age  to  be  didactic  to  her  finger  tips.  But 
you  're  mistaken  about  Livingstone  ;  he  can  teach 
her  something.  Her  heaven-sent  density  in  regard 
to  anything  that  concerns  number  is  my  salvation, 
for  she  has  the  utmost  respect  for  what  she  cannot 
understand.  Now  mathematics  is  Livingstone's 
strong  tower,  and  so  long  as  the  theorems  hold 
out  Katherine's  attitude  toward  him  will  be  tinged 
with  awe." 

"  And  after  Livingstone  and  the  theorems  ?  " 
"  Oh,  the  deluge,  I  suppose,"  admitted  the  doc 
tor  uneasily.  "  I  've  put  off  the  day  of  reckoning 
as  long  as  possible,  —  too  long  her  aunts  tell  me,  — 
but  it  can't  be  postponed  more  than  a  twelvemonth 
more.  Then  she  must  go  back  to  her  mother's 
people.  I  've  not  sent  her  before  because  —  well, 
I  've  dreaded  to  part  from  her  of  course.  Then 
her  aunts  would  have  sent  her  to  boarding-school 
and  college.  I  don't  want  her  sent  to  college.  She 
knows  as  much  now  as  it 's  wholesome  to  teach  a 
woman.  She  lacks  experience,  but  that  will  come 
soon  enough  when  she  reaches  the  outside  world  ; 
then  it  will  be  4  good-by  '  to  Wilsonport.  In  the 
mean  time  I  '11  make  the  most  of  her  misgivings  as 


THE  POT  OF  GOLD  71 

to  the  stability  of  two  times  two  ;  it  gives  me  this 
year." 

"  And  you  will  follow  her  ?  "  Mr.  Proctor's  ques 
tion  hurried.  Wilsonport  looked  suddenly  lack 
ing  in  perspective. 

The  doctor  did  not  answer  at  once,  and  his  face 
showed  gray.  When  he  did  reply  his  tone  was 
guarded  to  the  point  of  severity. 

"I  think  not.  I  belong  here.  When  I  said 
'  my  people '  it  was  not  an  idle  phrase.  I  should  n't 
bear  uprooting." 

Mr.  Proctor's  glance  swept  the  picture  before 
him :  the  village  ;  the  mill ;  the  forest  —  his  forest ; 
his  mill.  Did  the  village  hold  his  people  as  well  ? 
The  question  found  no  welcome,  but  it  tarried. 

It  was  the  next  afternoon  that  Mr.  Proctor,  sit 
ting  in  his  office,  found  his  door  blocked  with 
shadow.  He  looked  up  to  meet  a  woman's  glance 
studying  him. 

"  Do  you  wish  to  see  me  ?  "  he  asked,  curiosity 
overcoming  his  annoyance.  "Won't  you  come 
in?" 

The  young  woman  —  she  seemed  very  young 
despite  her  magnificent  proportions  —  ignored  the 
proffered  chair.  Her  breath  came  brokenly,  and 
her  fingers  twitched  as  she  braided  them  together. 

"  You  think  Adrien  Lauzeone  is  working  for 
you  ?  "  she  demanded. 

"  Yes,"  Mr.  Proctor  said,  mildly  amused  at  the 
contrast  between  question  and  manner.  "  Adrien 
is  packing  shingles.  You  '11  find  him  at  the  back 
of  the  mill." 


72  THE  LEGATEE 

"  You  will  not  find  him  at  the  back  of  the  mill." 
Her  voice  chanted  triumph.  "  He  has  run  from  his 
work.  Go  quick,  and  you  will  catch  him.  He  is 
at  the  lighthouse  with  "  —  her  head  flung  back  — 
"with  Katherine  Edmister.  I  catch  them.  Go 
quick !  " 

The  toss  of  the  girl's  head  stirred  a  memory, 
and  Mr.  Proctor's  perplexity  grew.  "  So,  you  are 
Adrien's  sister."  His  tone  was  grave.  "  I  heard 
that  he  had  a  sister  —  a  sister  that  worked  hard 
for  him  that  he  might  go  to  schooL  And  now  this 
sister  comes  and  asks  me  to  catch  her  brother? " 

The  girl's  fair  skin  grew  red,  but  her  mouth  re 
mained  sullen. 

"  He  works  for  you,"  she  said  doggedly,  "  and 
runs  away.  It  is  Katherine  Edmister.  'She  makes 
him  do  it.  You  go  catch  them.  You  will  see." 

The  venom  in  her  tone  stirred  the  man  to  anger 
that  he  would  not  analyze.  "  The  shingle  packers 
are  paid  by  the  piece,"  he  explained,  turning  away. 
"If  Adrien  does  not  want  to  work,  it  is  not  my  busi 
ness.  You  must  excuse  me  now.  I  am  busy." 

The  girl  walked  out  of  the  mill  yard  with  a  step 
that  admitted  no  consciousness  of  rebuff,  and  as 
Mr.  Proctor  watched  her,  admiration  strove  with 
his  unreasoning  vexation.  If  Detiere  were  a  leop 
ard,  he  thought,  this  woman  was  fitted  for  his  mate. 
He  returned  to  his  desk,  but  he  could  not  work. 
Briery  and  uncomfortable  Katherine  might  be,  but 
she  was  still  his  friend's  daughter.  His  loyalty  to 
her  was  in  arms,  and  pushing  away  his  work,  he 
started  for  the  lighthouse. 


THE  POT  OF  GOLD  73 

Heinrich's  home  tipped  the  northern  horn  of  the 
bay,  as  the  doctor's  did  the  southern,  and  clung, 
limpet-wise,  to  a  tumbled  mass  of  pine-clad  rock. 
The  day  was  oppressive,  close,  and  warm,  with  mut- 
terings  of  thunder  in  the  air,  but  at  the  lighthouse 
the  shadow  had  ever  the  coolness  of  a  grotto,  and 
Mr.  Proctor  walked  rapidly,  spurred  by  the  thought 
of  the  comfort  awaiting  him. 

Some  rods  from  the  lighthouse  he  slackened  his 
pace.  The  still  air  was  pulsating  to  the  throb  of 
Heinrich's  violin,  and  it  behooved  the  listener  to 
go  softly,  for  Heinrich's  violin,  famed  through  the 
forest  land,  sang  seldom  but  at  twilight,  and  never 
save  for  those  whom  he  held  dear. 

Mr.  Proctor  pushed  the  twigs  from  his  pathway, 
and  parted  the  bushes  in  silence,  till  an  opening  in 
the  trees  framed  a  picture  that  checked  him  sud 
denly.  In  front  of  the  lighthouse  a  table-rock, 
polished  by  rain  and  wave  to  satin  smoothness,  hung 
like  a  broad  shelf  over  the  water.  On  one  end  of 
this  platform  lay  a  gayly  patterned  quilt,  and  on  it, 
as  on  a  dais,  Heinrich  and  his  daughter  sat  en 
throned,  while  in  front  of  them,  with  steps  light  as 
the  quivering  shadows  from  the  trees  above,  Kath- 
erine  Edmister  and  Adrien  Lauzeone  waltzed 
blithely  to  the  lilt  of  the  violin.  Their  slender 
figures,  silhouetted  against  the  gray  of  lake  and 
sky,  were  lissome  as  the  dancing  shapes  on  Greek 
entablatures,  and  their  heads,  chaplet-crowned  with 
leaves  and  golden-rod,  suggested  echoes  of  a  day 
when  Pan  held  revel. 

An  unwary  step  brought  Mr.  Proctor  into  view, 


74  THE  LEGATEE 

und  the  music  stopped  with  a  crash.  There  was 
a  pause  long  enough  for  a  quickly  drawn  breath 
to  catch  and  die,  and  in  that  space  the  man  saw 
determination  born  in  Katherine's  look  and  grow 
to  action. 

She  swept  him  a  courtesy  that  brought  her  wreath- 
twined  curls  to  the  level  of  his  knee. 

"  Another  suitor  ?  "  Her  eyes  pleaded  with  him 
to  do  his  part.  "  This  is  the  court  of  the  Princess 
Bertha.  Good  sir,  what  is  your  name  ?  " 

There  was  no  time  to  think,  else  he  had  turned 
temptation's  face  aside.  "  Only  a  wayfarer  "  — he 
made  his  way  to  where  the  lame  girl,  Bertha,  sat 
upon  her  throne  —  "  Petruchio  by  name."  He 
turned  to  Katherine.  "  You  will  present  me  ?  " 

The  blaze  he  was  expecting  lit  her  eyes,  but  she 
said  nothing,  and  answering  the  eagerness  in  Ber 
tha's  look,  she  named  him  gravely. 

The  humility  of  the  man's  bowed  head  was  not 
of  manner  only.  Should  this  young  girl  shame  him 
in  courtesy?  He  sought  swiftly  for  words,  that 
she  alone  should  understand,  to  hold  his  penitence. 
Bertha  was  flushing  into  comeliness  at  his  deference, 
and  her  pleasure  held  him  for  a  moment  longer. 
Then  he  turned  to  Katherine. 

"Do  I  recognize  Diana?"  he  asked.  "The 
arrows  seem  familiar.  But  tell  me,  .Goddess,  why 
not  use  your  weapons  in  your  own  behalf  ?  You 
Lave  them  ever  barbed  in  the  defense  of  others." 

For  the  first  time  he  heard  her  laugh  spontane 
ously.  It  was  a  sound  that  the  others  joined  with 
out  asking  why. 


THE  POT  OF  GOLD  75 

Adrien,  meantime,  was  looking  sullen,  and  pulled 
impatiently  at  the  garlands  on  his  head  and  shoul 
ders.  Katherine  turned  to  him,  and  Mr.  Proctor 
caught  her  whisper.  "  Don't,  Adrien,  it  will  hurt 
Bertha.  Perhaps  our  Princess  will  make  a  wreath 
for  her  new  courtier."  She  added  the  last  sentence 
that  they  all  might  hear. 

"  But  court  is  over,"  Heinrich  interrupted. 
"  Look  !  "  He  dropped  his  violin  and  pointed  to 
a  finger  of  shadow  that  lay  across  their  feet. 

The  little  group  relaxed  into  easier  attitudes. 
"  We  hold  court  an  hour,"  Katherine  explained. 
"  Mr.  Heinrich  measures  it  by  a  new  dial  every 
day.  This  afternoon  it  was  the  fir  tree." 

"  May  I  come  earlier  another  time  ?  "  asked  Mr. 
Proctor  as  he  found  a  seat  at  Bertha's  feet.  Work 
might  lie  waiting  for  him  at  his  office,  but  he  had 
forgotten.  The  village  seemed  far  away. 

There  was  no  constraint  in  the  silence  that  fol 
lowed.  The  pleasure  in  Heinrich's  face  was  in 
itself  a  welcome  that  lacked  no  force  through  being 
voiceless,  and  content  was  in  the  air. 

"  What 's  the  matter  with  the  shingles  this  after 
noon,  Adrien  ?  "  Mr.  Proctor  went  on,  at  length. 
He  was  playing  with  the  leaves  in  Bertha's  lap, 
and  his  query  sounded  idle. 

Adrieu,  who  was  stretched  on  the  rock  at  Kath 
erine' s  side,  turned  a  smiling  face  toward  his  ques 
tioner.  "  I  am  going  away  to-morrow  —  going  to 
Madison."  He  whispered  the  words  as  if  afraid 
that  he  might  hear  his  voice  and  wake.  "  This  was 
my  last  afternoon,  so  I  was  paid  off,  and  came  here. 
I  am  going  away." 


76  THE  LEGATEE 

The  repetition  of  the  last  words  held  emotion, 
and  Mr.  Proctor  turned  instinctively  toward  Kath- 
erine.  He  regretted  the  look,  for  he  surprised  a 
mist  in  the  girl's  upraised  eyes. 

She  met  his  glance  steadily.  "  Perhaps  you  can 
help  us,"  she  said.  "  You  saw  us  dancing.  Was 
it  right  ?  Adrien  will  want  to  dance  at  the  uni 
versity,  and  I  was  trying  to  show  him  how  to  hold 
his  partner.  I  've  been  studying  the  pictures  in 
the  magazines  to  learn  how.  Did  it  look  at  all  as 
it  should  ?  " 

What  had  lowered  her  defenses  ?  This  new  and 
submissive  Katherine  bred  regret  in  Mr.  Proctor's 
mind.  "  You  danced  well,  both  of  you,"  he  said, 
"  but  Adrien  held  you  too  closely.  I  wonder  "  — 
his  tone,  taught  by  his  surprise,  learned  humility  — 
"  whether  you  would  like  me  to  show  you  the  way 
that  I  was  taught." 

Adrien  looked  a  negative,  but  Katherine  was  on 
her  feet. 

"  Please  do,"  she  begged.      "  Now  watch,  Ad- 


Heinrich  picked  up  his  violin  slowly,  and  the 
first  notes  wavered  ;  then  his  mouth  closed  firmly, 
and  his  bow  drew  clearer  tones.  He  must  submit 
to  seeing  Katherine  with  strangers ;  the  lesson  was 
as  well  learned  now  as  later. 

Mr.  Proctor's  step  caught  the  measure  with  joy. 
It  was  long  since  he  had  moved  to  the  rhythm  of 
pleasure,  and  after  his  first  feeling  of  exhilaration 
had  passed  memories  crowded.  The  rhythmic 
swing  brought  back  times  and  faces  that  claimed 


THE   POT  OF  GOLD  77 

him  and  that  he  had  endeavored  to  forget.  For  a 
moment  a  wave  of  remembrance  obliterated  his 
surroundings,  and  the  cadence  of  the  waltz  stood 
to  him  for  all  that  he  had  forsworn,  —  the  ameni 
ties  and  luxuries  that  seemed  once  more  vital;  the 
voices  of  women  and  the  companionship  of  men  — 
the  men  and  women  who  were  of  his  past. 

The  music  jarred. 

"  Is  it  that  I  go  on  ?  "  Heinrich  suggested. 

Mr.  Proctor  shook  his  head  and  seated  the  girl 
on  the  quilted  mosaic  of  the  throne  with  a  bow  that 
was  a  survival  of  his  reverie. 

"  I  have  nothing  to  teach  you.  You  dance  be 
yond  comparison,"  he  announced  with  deliberation 
that  seemed  the  flower  of  compliment.  "  I  would 
give  something  to  dance  with  you  on  a  good  floor." 

The  girl  blossomed  under  his  approbation.  He 
had  never  praised  her  before.  "  Heinrich's  violin 
taught  me."  There  was  new  shyness  in  her  tone. 
"  I  never  danced  anywhere  else." 

Heinrich  smiled  at  the  violin  he  was  caressing. 
"  The  gulls  taught  you,"  he  murmured,  "  and  the 
winds,  and  the  clouds." 

"  She  skates  the  same  way,"  said  Adrien  im 
personally.  Then  he  turned  away  his  face  and 
drew  a  long  breath  that  wavered.  "I  won't  be 
here  to  skate  with  you  this  winter,  Katherine. 
You  '11  have  to  find  some  one  else."  His  attempt 
at  nonchalance  failed  pitiably. 

Katherine's  eyes  again  grew  misty.  "  Look," 
she  exclaimed,  quickly  defensive ;  "  see  the  rainbow 
over  the  lake !  " 


78  THE  LEGATEE 

The  clouds,  which  throughout  the  afternoon  had 
pushed  rounded  shoulders  above  the  horizon  line, 
were  now  massed  in  a  bank  in  the  southeast,  but 
above  them,  spanning  the  arch  from  lake  to  forest, 
hung  a  rainbow,  its  color  thrown  into  relief  by  the 
threatening  shade  below. 

"See,  Adrien,"  Katherine  went  on,  her  voice 
steadier,  "  the  foot  of  the  bow  lies  to  the  south, 
just  where  you  are  going.  You  '11  find  your  pot 
of  gold." 

"  Is  it  gold  ?  "  asked  Mr.  Proctor.  "  I  thought 
glory  was  what  you  were  seeking."  The  sympathy 
in  his  voice  made  his  words  kindly. 

"  It 's  the  same  thing,  Katherine  says,"  the  boy 
answered.  "  It 's  what  we  want  most." 

Katherine  nodded,  and  her  mouth  wore  a  smile 
born  of  her  own  thoughts.  "That's  what  it 
means  to  me,"  she  said.  The  peace  of  the  after 
noon  seemed  to  bring  fullness  of  speech.  "  I  think 
that  the  gold  at  the  foot  of  the  rainbow  must 
have  different  forms  for  all  of  us.  It  can't  be  a 
yellow  metal  for  everybody.  It 's  the  thing  that 
looks  fairest.  Now  Adrien's  pot  of  gold  is  an 
education." 

"  And  yours,  Miss  Katherine  ?  "  The  question 
came  from  Mr.  Proctor. 

Katherine' s  mouth  broke  into  its  irregular  teas 
ing  smile.  "  I  don't  know,"  she  confessed.  "  It 's 
one  thing,  then  another.  Sometimes  it 's  to  try  my 
wings,  to  learn  what 's  waiting  for  me  there  "  —  her 
comprehensive  gesture  swept  the  horizon.  "  Some 
time  it 's  power,  only  I  don't  know  just  what  power 


THE  POT  OF  GOLD  79 

is.  It 's  never  money,  as  yours  is,  for  I  've  seen 
too  little  to  have  it  mean  much  to  me." 

"  So  my  pot  of  gold  is  money,  is  it  ?  "  Mr. 
Proctor's  voice  held  a  hint  of  abstraction  that 
made  him  suddenly  remote.  "  Well,  that 's  a  defi 
nite  goal  at  least.  Yours  is  n't." 

"  Yes,  yours  is  definite,  and  you  '11  reach  it," 
said  the  girl  with  the  conviction  of  a  seer.  "I 
know,  for  look  at  the  rainbow.  It  stops  just  over 
your  lumber  piles." 

Mr.  Proctor  laughed  outright.  Was  this  child 
or  woman  ?  At  all  events,  she  harbored  generous 
impulses,  despite  her  thorns.  He  was  glad  for  Dr. 
Edmister's  sake  that  he  had  seen  his  daughter's 
softer  side. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

A   BRIDGE   IS   CROSSED 

THE  Buffalo  steamer  landed  at  the  pier  the  next 
day,  and  the  crowd  of  travelers  peering  over  her 
rail  saw  a  leave-taking  that  they  called  picturesque. 
Adrien  was  saying  good-by  to  Wilsonport. 

"  I  wish  these  people  would  n't  stare  at  Ferdi- 
nante,"  Dr.  Edmister  grumbled  to  Proctor,  who 
was  looking  over  the  freight.  "  How  we  drop  our 
reservations  when  we  turn  sight-seers  !  " 

Mr.  Proctor  turned.  "  Don't  miss  the  best  part 
of  the  play  yourself,"  he  said  with  lowered  voice. 
"  Have  n't  you  seen  Livingstone  and  his  impressive 
friend  ?  My  vacation  is  over.  Methinks  I  hear 
the  tocsin." 

"  Livingstone  ?  I  had  forgotten  it  was  time  for 
him."  The  doctor's  tone  was  almost  reprovingly 
matter  of  fact.  "  Those  trunks  suggest  that  his 
friend  has  come  to  stay." 

The  friend  had  indeed  come  to  stay.  He  was 
Dr.  Griggs,  the  lounging  audience  was  at  once  in 
formed,  and  he  had  chosen  Wilsonport  as  a  home, 
attracted  thereto  by  the  beauty  of  its  surround 
ings  and  the  intelligence  of  its  people. 

Mr.  Proctor,  included  in  this  comprehensive  in 
troduction  and  biography,  was  conscious  from  the 


A  BRIDGE   IS  CROSSED  81 

eyes  about  him  that  he  was  present  at  an  epoch- 
making  moment.  Here,  at  last,  was  a  man  who 
had  corne  from  the  outside  because  he  wished. 
The  situation  was  new. 

Equally  new  was  Dr.  Griggs  himself :  his  speech 
and  his  raiment  —  both  carefully  ornate  —  re 
flected  worlds  not  realized  in  the  former  standards 
of  the  village.  His  very  walk,  as  he  led  a  proces 
sion  from  the  pier,  lent  to  the  sawdust-covered 
street  an  air  that  was  dimly  metropolitan. 

Mr.  Proctor,  following  with  outward  meekness 
in  the  rear  of  this  attendant  column,  was  momenta 
rily  impatient  of  Dr.  Edmister's  kindly  generali 
ties  as  to  the  benefits  of  having  two  physicians  in 
the  village.  Dr.  Griggs's  apologetically  pompous 
back  seemed,  in  some  way,  even  more  irritating 
than  his  face.  Were  there  no  boundaries  to  Dr. 
Edmister's  tolerance  ? 

Mr.  Proctor's  question  would  have  been  justified 
to  his  own  mind  could  he  have  heard  a  conversa 
tion  of  a  week  later.  Livingstone  and  George 
Cole  were  in  the  mill  yard,  and  their  talk  was  of 
a  shining  sign,  large  of  frame  and  gilt  of  letter, 
that  announced  to  him  who  ran  the  residence  of 
Arthur  Griggs,  M.  D.,  Physician  and  Surgeon. 

Mr.  Cole's  remarks  discouraged  argument. 
"  Dr.  Edmister  's  good  enough  for  me,"  he  an 
nounced,  with  frowning  brows. 

Mr.  Livingstone's  eyes  did  not  flinch.  "  Per 
haps,"  he  said,  "  but  Dr.  Edmister  countenances 
spirituous  liquors.  Dr.  Griggs  is  a  consecrated 
man  and  a  teetotaler.  Remembering  this,  can  a 
man  like  you  stop  to  choose  between  them  ?  " 


82  THE  LEGATEE 

Cole  looked  stolidly  distressed.  He  had  no  arts 
at  his  command  to  hide  his  discomfiture,  and  Liv 
ingstone  pressed  his  point. 

"  Think  of  your  duty  as  an  example  to  the  men 
you  are  employing,"  he  urged. 

Cole's  slower  wits  seized  at  the  loophole  with 
an  eagerness  that  proved  his  mental  disturbance. 
"  I  don't  employ  the  men,"  he  explained.  "  Mr. 
Proctor  does  that." 

The  schoolmaster  ignored  the  evasion.  "It 
should  not  be  necessary  for  me  to  point  out  to  you 
the  straight  road  of  salvation,"  he  said  severely. 
"  If  you  fail  in  this  matter  it  is  because  you  have 
sold  yourself  to  the  Mammon  of  unrighteous 
ness." 

An  illuminating  beam  of  humor  struggled 
through  the  clouds  of  Cole's  mind.  "  You  've 
called  Mr.  Proctor  Mammon  before,"  he  remarked, 
snapping  his  fingers,  "  but  what  has  that  to  do 
with  your  Dr.  Griggs  ?  " 

The  other's  lips  tightened.  "  It  has  this  to  do 
with  it :  Mr.  Proctor  is  an  atheist,  an  oppressor  of 
the  poor.  You  know  his  past.  If  you  accept  his 
blood-stained  money,  the  least  you  can  do  is  to 
consecrate  it  to  better  uses.  And  Dr.  Edmister 
is  in  league  with  him.  He  is  a  man  without "  — 

"  Look  out !  "  Cole  interrupted  with  emphasis 
that  answered  for  an  oath.  "  Let  Dr.  Edmister 
alone."  He  raised  a  hand  that  clenched  uncon 
sciously. 

Livingstone  caught  the  upraised  hand  and 
pointed  with  it  to  a  man  who  was  working  near 


A  BRIDGE  IS  CROSSED  83 

them.  "Look  at  Knud  Halverson,"  he  com 
manded.  "  He  was  the  best  trimmer  you  had  in 
the  mill ;  you  said  so  yourself.  Look  at  him  now ! 
One  hand  gone,  and  all  he  can  do  is  to  drive  the 
dump-cart.  And  it  was  drink  that  did  it.  He 
never  would  have  lost  his  hand  if  he  'd  been  sober, 
and  yet  you  try  to  tell  me  that  Dr.  Edmister  is  a 
good  friend  to  the  men." 

"  But  Dr.  Edmister  tries  to  keep  the  men  from 
drinking." 

"  Yes,  and  prescribes  whiskey  !  "  Livingstone 
kicked  the  sawdust.  "  I  tell  you  the  only  friend 
the  men  have  is  the  one  who  practices  what  he  pre 
tends  to  preach.  Does  Dr.  Edmister  sign  the 
pledge  ?  No,  he  is  too  superior  to  need  restraints 
of  that  kind.  He  and  Mr.  Proctor  are  run  in  the 
same  mould.  They  are  in  league,  I  tell  you,  to 
debauch  and  destroy  the  working-man.  Are  you 
with  them  or  not  ?  " 

Cole  walked  to  a  pile  of  lumber  and  looked  it 
over  with  deliberation.  When  he  returned  his  eyes 
were  steady.  "  You  've  said  enough,  Livingstone. 
And  Mr.  Proctor  is  my  boss.  You  can  remember 
that." 

"  I  can  remember  that  you  are  pledged  to  a 
master  called  Christ,"  returned  the  other  gravely. 
"  You,  too,  will  remember  it  some  day." 

44 1  have  never  forgotten  it,"  said  Cole ;  but 
though  his  voice  was  firm,  his  mind  was  troubled. 
It  was  true  that  Dr.  Edmister  would  not  sign  the 
pledge.  And  Livingstone  was  right,  too,  about 
the  whiskey.  The  tyrannous  saws  exacted  clear 


84  THE  LEGATEE 

eyes  and  steady  brains.  Yet  did  this  bear  on  Dr. 
Griggs  ?  It  was  an  unquiet  heart  that  the  super 
intendent  carried  back  with  him  to  his  cottage  that 
evening. 

He  found  Katherine  Edmister  in  the  kitchen 
with  Olive,  and  the  sound  of  her  laughter  light 
ened  his  frowning  eyes. 

"Father  has  gone  to  Birch  Creek,"  she  an 
nounced,  "  and  I  'm  to  stay  here  till  he  calls  for 
me.  Will  he  ever  let  me  grow  up,  do  you  think  ?  " 

Mr.  Cole  looked  at  her  with  puzzled  intentness. 
"  You  look  more  grown  up  now,  someway.  I  no 
ticed  it  when  I  met  you  in  the  store  the  other  day. 
What  is  the  matter?  Don't  you" —  he  paused, 
and  his  tone  grew  sincerely  apprehensive  —  "  don't 
you  feel  well? " 

Katherine  flushed.  Outspoken  affection  had  not 
been  common  enough  in  her  life  to  enable  her  to 
meet  it  without  embarrassment,  and  the  moisture 
that  blurred  her  eyes  taught  her  that  she  had  been 
fighting  loneliness. 

"  It 's  my  hair,  I  think,"  she  said,  trying  to  frown 
down  Olive's  laughter.  "  I  've  been  putting  it 
up  lately,  and  of  course  it  makes  me  look  older. 
There  !  "  She  drew  out  a  handful  of  hairpins  and 
shook  the  short  curls  over  her  shoulders.  "  Is  that 
better  ?  " 

Mr.  Cole's  hand  checked  his  wife's  protest. 
"Yes,"  he  replied,  with  disproportionate  gravity, 
"  that  is  better."  He  could  not  have  explained 
his  own  feeling,  but  the  thought  of  Katherine  as  a 
woman  seemed,  in  some  formless  way,  to  add  to 


A  BRIDGE  IS  CROSSED  85 

the  perplexities  of  the  afternoon.  His  sense  of  the 
comfortable  stability  of  his  surroundings  was  gone ; 
his  moorings  of  the  accustomed  had  been  shaken. 

"  We  '11  have  to  hurry  and  do  the  dishes,"  said 
Mrs.  Cole  as  they  finished  supper.  "  It 's  choir 
practice  to-night." 

Katherine  had  been  looking  absent.  "  I  '11  wash 
the  dishes,  Olive,"  she  said.  "  I  'd  better  not  go  to 
the  church  with  you,  for  father  may  come  for  me 
early." 

"  But  you  '11  be  lonesome."  Mrs.  Cole's  protest 
was  faint.  An  evening's  respite  from  the  treadmill 
of  dishwashing  was  not  to  be  put  by  lightly. 

A  laugh  of  affectionate  comprehension  chased 
the  listlessness  from  Katherine's  face.  "  I  'm 
never  lonesome,"  she  protested,  as  she  cleared  the 
table,  "  and  then  I  've  Chevalier.  Please  go." 

"  Are  you  going  to  stop  for  Karen  ?  "  she  asked, 
as  Mrs.  Cole  put  on  her  hat.  "  If  you  are,  I  '11 
walk  as  far  as  that  with  you.  I  have  n't  seen  her 
this  week." 

Mrs.  Cole  dropped  her  shawl  and  looked  as 
tonished.  "  Why,  Karen  just  went  by  with  Mr. 
Proctor.  Oh,  we  never  stop  for  Karen  now." 

"  Now  ?  "  Katherine  echoed.  The  stab  of  sur 
prise  which  confused  her  made  her  use  the  question 
mark,  which  she  instantly  regretted. 

"  Since  Karen  and  Mr.  Proctor  have  been  keep 
ing  company,"  Olive  explained  with  relish.  "  You 
don't  mean  to  say  that  Karen  has  n't  told  you.  He 
walks  to  church  with  her  all  the  time." 

"  I  have  n't  seen  Karen  much  lately,"  Katherine 


86  THE  LEGATEE 

quickly  defended,  "  and  she  would  n't  tell  me,  any 
way.  Why,  I  —  I  would  n't  want  her  to  tell  me." 

"  She  tells  other  people  fast  enough,"  said  Mrs. 
Cole  triumphantly.  She  was  fond  of  Katherine, 
but  this  was  a  situation  that  she  could  not  resist. 
"  I  should  think  that  you  'd  feel  kind  of  queer 
about  it." 

"Karen  has  been  very  busy,"  Katherine  per 
sisted.  "  I  live  up  on  the  hill,  you  know,"  she  went 
on,  with  a  somewhat  wavering  smile,  "  so  that  I  never 
hear  any  news.  Let  me  fix  your  shawl.  I  don't 
suppose  Karen  thinks  that  she  has  anything  to 
tell." 

Katherine  washed  the  dishes  and  swept  the 
kitchen  in  a  stormy  frame  of  mind.  The  storm  was 
at  herself,  for  she  was  unused  to  pain  and  resented 
it.  Karen  had  failed  her  and  the  world  was  awry, 
but  the  sharpest  sting  lay  in  her  sudden  bewildered 
admission  of  her  own  unhappiness  —  and  that  at 
so  trivial  a  hurt.  She  raged  at  her  weakness  ;  she 
would  show  more  self-control.  What  was  it  to  her 
that  Karen  had  found  another  friend  ?  It  was  what 
she  had  expected,  but  she  had  put  it  off  into  the 
future,  as  something  that  might  occur  when  she  was 
so  old  that  she  would  not  care,  for  she  had  an  ill- 
defined  belief  that  womanhood  and  its  resulting 
complement  of  marriage  brought  with  it  a  blessed 
callousness  of  heart  and  mind.  Had  her  belief 
been  put  in  words  she  would  have  scorned  it,  but 
it  was  none  the  less  an  undercurrent  of  her  thought. 
Age  brought  wisdom  ;  it  must  also  bring  indiffer 
ence  —  else  how  could  people  live ! 


A  BRIDGE  IS  CROSSED  87 

The  September  evening  was  chilly,  and  the  work 
done,  Katherine  still  sat  in  the  kitchen,  her  feet  on 
the  fender  of  the  cooking-stove.  "  I  'm  never  lone 
some,"  she  had  said  to  Olive  —  but  why  had  not 
Karen  been  to  see  her  ?  Chevalier  climbed  into 
her  lap  and  laid  his  head  against  her  arm  with  a 
questioning  sigh.  He  ignored  the  tear  he  would 
have  liked  to  lick  away  and  sighed  again,  while 
Katherine  patted  him  mechanically.  He  had  served 
as  comforter  before ;  he  had  no  instinct  now  to  tell 
him  that  his  power  was  waning. 

The  sound  of  steps  approaching  the  kitchen 
brought  Katherine  to  realities,  and  she  opened  the 
door  without  waiting  for  a  knock.  It  was  not  her 
father  she  knew,  for  his  conscientious  use  of  the 
formal  front  entrance  was  his  one  violation  of  vil 
lage  traditions,  but  it  must  be  some  of  the  neigh 
bors,  and  the  doorstep,  an  uncertainly  balanced 
shingle  bolt,  had  often  bred  dark  misgiving  in  her 
mind. 

The  light  from  the  open  door  showed  the  dark 
face  and  unkempt  curls  of  Louis  Detiere.  The  red 
silk  handkerchief  around  his  neck  was  not  more 
brilliant  than  the  scarlet  of  his  lips. 

"  I  want  Cole,"  he  said  sharply.  His  disturbed 
glance  went  over  Katherine's  head  and  searched 
the  kitchen. 

"  Mr.  Cole  is  not  here,"  replied  Katherine  with 
equal  sharpness.  She  knew  the  man  by  sight,  and 
his  reputation  was  a  matter  for  the  disciplining  of 
children.  "  Be  good  or  Louis  Detiere  will  catch 
you  "  was  a  compelling  phrase. 


88  THE  LEGATEE 

The  man  closed  his  teeth.  "He  has  gone  to 
Livingstone's  meeting.  I  will  drag  him  away." 

"  He  has  gone  to  choir  meeting." 

"  Choir  meeting  ?  So?  He  tell  you  that  ?  Choir 
meeting ! " 

The  insult  of  the  man's  laugh  darkened  the  gray 
of  Katherine's  eyes.  "  Mr.  Cole  is  at  the  church, 
Mr.  Detiere.  If  you  want  him  you  can  find  him 
there.  I  must  close  the  door." 

The  man  looked  down  with  sudden  recognition 
of  her  presence.  "  He  lied,"  he  said  roughly.  "  The 
church  where  he  go  is  with  Livingstone,  in  Tor- 
stenson's  feed  loft." 

"  The  church  where  he  went  is  on  the  next  cor 
ner.  Take  your  foot  away,  please.  It  is  cold,  and 
I  am  going  to  close  the  door." 

The  easy  superiority  of  the  girl's  tone  waked  a 
chord  of  association  and  brought  the  man's  eyes 
back  to  her  face.  "  So  ?  You  are  Dr.  Edmister's 
girl,"  he  said,  with  a  chuckle  of  comprehension, 
and  a  vagrant  impulse  moved  his  hand  to  his 
cap. 

"  I  am  Miss  Edmister,"  returned  Katherine  with 
patient  tolerance. 

He  drew  his  foot  away.  "  You  look  like  you  tell 
the  truth."  There  was  wonder  in  the  admission. 
"  Where  is  Livingstone  ?  " 

The  girl  ignored  the  first  part  of  his  remark,  and 
a  little  sigh  escaped  her.  Her  thoughts  were  still 
with  Karen,  and  her  speech  with  Detiere  was  taking 
but  a  fraction  of  her  mind.  "  I  don't  know  where 
you  11  find  Mr.  Livingstone,"  she  said.  "  Not  at 


A  BRIDGE  IS   CROSSED  89 

the  church,  for  he  does  n't  sing.  Will  you  leave 
a  message  ?  " 

The  patronage  of  her  manner  brought  a  gleam  to 
the  man's  eyes.  He  was  accustomed  to  dominate 
women  and  was  tired  of  it.  There  were  women 
living  who  could  have  told  Katherine,  had  they 
seen  his  face,  that  she  had  won  the  perilous  dis 
tinction  of  Louis  Detiere's  admiration. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  I  have  a  message.  Tell  Cole 
that  Livingstone's  little  bonfire  didn't  burn.  I 
made  it  —  so !  "  His  foot  brushed  the  step  in  vig 
orous  pantomime.  "  Tell  him  that,  and  if  he  knows 
what  I  mean  "  —  He  stopped,  and  his  laugh  was 
suggestive.  "  Well !  " 

Katherine's  mind  was  with  him  now  and  was 
alert.  "  What  do  you  mean  ?  I  can  take  no  mes 
sage  like  that.  What  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  I  mean  what  I  say.  I  found  the  fire,  and  I 
did  — so!" 

"  But  what  fire  ?     This  is  child's  play." 

"  So  ?  Child's  play  ?  "  He  was  master  again, 
and  his  tone  swaggered.  "  But  children  should 
not  have  matches.  See?  When  I  see  Living 
stone  "  —  The  break,  which  stood  with  him  for 
matter  which  transcended  speech,  again  supplied 
his  meaning. 

"  Stop  !  "  The  girl  barred  his  exit  with  uncon 
sciousness  of  gesture.  "  Stop !  You  say  that  Mr. 
Livingstone  lighted  a  fire  and  that  you  put  it  out. 
Where  was  the  fire  ?  " 

"  Under  a  lumber  pile,"  the  man  answered,  to 
his  own  surprise.  The  girl's  eyes  were  looking 


90  THE  LEGATEE 

directly  into  his,  and  he  went  on.  "I  was  go 
ing  through  the  yards,  and  I  found  it.  There  was 
shavings  there,  and  they  smelled  of  oil." 

"  Oh !  "  There  was  a  shiver  in  the  monosyllable. 
"  How  dare  you  accuse  Mr.  Livingstone  ?  Why 
do  you  do  it?" 

The  Belgian  was  said  not  to  like  questions,  but 
he  answered  this  one.  "  Livingstone  hates  Proc 
tor."  The  girl's  eyes  had  not  left  his  face,  yet 
he  knew  that  she  did  not  see  him.  How  could  he 
make  her  conscious  that  he,  Louis  Detiere,  was 
there?  "I  will  find  Livingstone,"  he  blustered. 
"Then"  — 

He  had  succeeded.  Katherine's  eyes  had  caught 
the  gleam  of  the  knife  in  his  belt,  and  the  look  that 
met  his  now  held,  not  only  knowledge  of  his  pres 
ence,  but  memory  of  his  repute. 

"  Don't  look  for  Mr.  Livingstone  to-night,"  she 
begged.  "  Let  it  go  till  to-morrow.  Think  it  over. 
You  will  see  that  you  are  wrong.  Even  if,  as  you 
say,  he  dislikes  Mr.  Proctor,  he  would  n't  destroy 
property.  It  is  preposterous." 

"  Who  did  it  ?  "  asked  the  man. 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said  with  less  assurance, 
"  but  it  was  n't  Mr.  Livingstone.  Why  "  —  her 
thoughts  took  a  new  leap  —  "  did  you  want  Mr. 
Cole?" 

The  Belgian  shrugged  his  shoulders.  "  He  is 
the  mill  boss.  Then  there  is  meetings  to-night  at 
Torstenson's.  I  wanted  to  find  if  he  is  there." 

He  turned  away,  and  again  the  lamp's  rays 
pointed  to  his  knife.  Was  it  impulse  that  cap- 


A  BRIDGE  IS  CROSSED  91 

tured  Katherine  ?     Her  own  voice  was  a  stranger 
when  she  spoke  again. 

"  Listen  !  You  've  done  your  duty.  Let  it  rest 
there.  I  will  tell  Mr.  Cole.  Please  go  home  and 
leave  the  matter  to  me." 

Detiere  looked  at  her,  and  his  reply  was  per- 
tinent.  «  Why  ?  " 

"  Because  —  because  you  will  make  trouble  if 
you  see  Mr.  Livingstone  to-night.  You  are  angry 
and  will  make  a  scene.  Then  aU  the  village  will 
know.  No  matter  if  you  are  wrong,  it  will  hurt 
the  school.  No,  I  know  that  you  don't  care  for 
the  school,  but  you  do  care  for  —  for  order.  You 
are  the  head  of  the  shingle  mill.  You  can  under 
stand  how  important  it  is  that  Mr.  Livingstone 
should  have  obedience.  Please  go." 

The  Belgian  frowned.  The  girl  was  dictating 
to  him.  He  stared  at  her  rudely,  till,  of  a  sudden, 
his  mood  was  shaken  by  unextinguishable  laugh 
ter.  How  small  she  looked!  He  measured  his 
own  inches,  and  his  amusement  grew.  Go  ?  Of 
course  he  would  go.  He  had  never  been  thwarted 
by  a  woman,  and  he  enjoyed  seeing  himself  obey 

surprises  were  precious  to  Louis  Detiere. 

"  I  go,"  he  repeated,  as  he  clicked  the  gate. 
"  You  tell  Cole  that  I  go.  That  I  left  my  business 
for  a  girl  to  do."  His  trumpet  call  of  laughter 
at  the  thought  rolled  echoingly  down  the  deserted 
street. 


CHAPTER  IX 

WHILE   THE   PENDULUM   WAS   SWINGING 

THE  mind  that  Katherine  carried  back  with  her 
into  the  kitchen  was  not  the  unobtrusive  handmaid 
that  was  wont  to  do  her  bidding.  It  led  her  into 
alien  paths.  She  had  been  too  much  absorbed  in 
winning  her  point  with  Detiere  to  think  of  all  that 
it  involved ;  now  its  import  left  her  breathless. 

Some  one  had  tried  to  burn  the  mill  —  the  mill 
that  fed  the  men  !  Her  anger  struggled  with  her 
fear.  How  Mr.  Proctor  must  be  hated,  how  un 
justly  !  A  sudden  allegiance  to  him  sprang  to 
life.  He  was  no  taskmaster.  She  saw  his  face 
again,  as  she  had  seen  it  a  week  before  upon  the 
lighthouse  rock,  and  its  memory  rebuked  her. 
Clean-drawn  and  spirited  it  was,  but  not  unkind. 
He  was  her  father's  friend.  She  had  never 
thought  of  him  in  that  regard  before. 

She  walked  the  floor.  How  could  she  warn 
him  ?  She  must  see  him  —  see  him  at  once.  It 
was  not  enough  that  Mr.  Cole  would  tell  him  in 
the  morning.  So  wanton  an  attempt  upon  his 
property  should  not  be  hidden  even  for  the  night. 
The  room  choked  her  as  she  thought,  and  she 
opened  the  door.  The  night  was  dark,  and  the 
broad  squares  of  light  that  marked  the  church 


WHILE  THE   PENDULUM  WAS  SWINGING    93 

seemed  beckoningly  near.  Mr.  Cole  was  there, 
Olive,  Mr.  Proctor  perhaps.  She  could  walk 
there  in  a  moment  and  see  them  all.  She  longed 
for  their  companionship.  If  she  could  share  the 
burden  of  her  news,  the  night  would  seem  less 
black. 

She  stepped  outside.  Her  father  would  not 
come  for  her  that  night.  When  he  was  detained 
as  late  as  this,  he  left  her  till  the  morning.  The 
church  was  but  a  few  rods  away.  Why  hesitate  ? 
She  would  sleep  better  if  she  felt  that  Mr.  Proctor 
knew. 

The  door  of  the  church  was  open,  and  she  halted 
on  the  steps.  The  group  within  was  larger  than 
she  had  expected.  She  had  no  mind  to  show  her 
evident  excitement  to  so  many,  so  would  wait 
for  the  meeting  to  disband.  She  watched  them 
idly.  They  were  not  practicing,  for  the  moment, 
and  Mr.  Cole  and  Olive,  their  faces  severe  with 
importance,  were  selecting  hymns.  Mr.  Proctor, 
with  Karen,  stood  near  the  door ;  his  attitude 
showed  that  he  had  just  come  in,  and  the  girl, 
with  shining  eyes,  seemed  begging  him  to  stay. 

The  girl  watching  outside  felt  her  chin  lift  de 
fensively.  Karen  looked  eager,  and  Katherine's 
heart  went  out  in  protest.  Karen  must  not  try  so 
palpably  to  entertain  this  man  —  must  not  show 
him  that  his  admiration  was  a  thing  to  covet ;  for 
it  was  all  a  matter  of  indifference  to  him.  The 
girl  without  knew,  instantly  and  surely,  that  his 
thoughts  were  elsewhere.  It  was  Karen's  flushed 
beauty  that  appealed  to  him,  and  Katherine  felt, 


94  THE  LEGATEE 

with  swift  resentment,  that  the  girl's  words  but 
barely  reached  his  ear. 

Her  jealousy  for  Karen  showed  a  new  phase 
now  —  a  conquering  one.  Friendship  was  in  arms. 
She,  too,  loved  Karen's  beauty,  but  she  loved  the 
girl  as  well  —  the  girl  whom  this  man's  supercili 
ous  blindness  would  never  let  him  see.  The  old 
irritation  that  his  presence  bred  increased  four 
fold.  How  calm  he  looked,  untouched  by  all  the 
drama  of  the  enwrapping  night !  What  that  he 
knew  nothing  of  it?  He  should  know.  Such 
ignorance  as  his  came  only  from  a  callous  uncon 
cern  of  all  but  his  own  pleasure.  His  lack  of 
knowledge  was  the  secret  of  the  crime. 

And  when  he  did  know  —  what  then  ?  He  had 
turned  from  Karen  now,  and  his  glance,  idly 
wandering,  seemed  to  meet  her  own.  It  chal 
lenged  all  her  pulses.  It  was  a  firm  glance,  she 
acknowledged,  but  hard  —  the  glance  of  a  man 
who  would  exact  his  pound  for  pound. 

She  turned  away  to  the  village.  Its  homes  were 
sleeping.  How  pitifully  small  and  poor  they 
looked  in  the  dim  light!  And  the  tired  hearts 
within  them  !  Unreasoning,  childish,  wicked,  per 
haps,  but  always  tired.  A  clutch  of  mother  pity 
seized  the  girl,  who  herself  could  not  remember 
the  pressure  of  a  mother's  arms.  Her  village  — 
the  people  who  loved  her  I  How  could  she  betray 
them  to  this  man  ? 

A  step  behind  her  made  her  conscious  of  the 
tears  upon  her  cheeks,  and  she  turned. 

"  Mr.  Livingstone  !  "  she  cried.  "  Mr.  Living 
stone  !  " 


WHILE  THE  PENDULUM  WAS  SWINGING    95 

She  was  heedless  of  her  tears  now,  as  she  ran 
down  the  steps  with  eager  greeting.  Here  was 
the  one  man  who  could  help  her,  and  she  could 
talk  to  him  freely.  Bigoted  or  not,  he  loved  the 
village ;  he  would  understand. 

He  listened  to  her  story  in  absolute  silence.  If 
the  emotion  that  she  had  expected  was  not  in  his 
face,  she  was  then  too  self-absorbed  to  miss  it.  At 
mention  of  Detiere  his  face  grew  dark. 

"  Why  did  you  interfere  ?  "  he  interrupted. 

She  stopped,  her  narrative  checked  rudely. 
For  a  moment  she,  too,  wondered  why.  Her  rea 
sons,  cogent  before,  seemed  slipping  from  her 
grasp.  "  Why  —  why,  to  prevent  a  scene."  Then, 
as  Livingstone's  expression  grew  more  inquiring, 
"  The  man  will  see,  when  he  comes  to  himself  to 
morrow,  that  he  was  wrong,  that  you  know  no 
thing  about  it." 

"  No,  I  know  nothing,"  he  echoed.  He  still 
looked  uncomprehending.  "  Nothing  at  all." 

Katherine  looked  at  him.  His  denial  grated, 
and  she  had  the  sudden  forlorn  consciousness  that 
she  stood  alone.  Of  course  he  knew  nothing. 
Why  should  he  think  it  necessary  to  tell  her 
so? 

"  But  I  promised  to  tell  Mr.  Cole,"  she  said, 
following  her  own  thought,  "  and  now  I  don't  know 
what  to  do.  Mr.  Cole  will  have  to  tell  Mr.  Proc 
tor  —  that  will  be  his  duty  —  and  then  "  —  She 
made  a  hopeless  gesture. 

"  What  can  Mr.  Proctor  do  ?  "  asked  the  man. 
"  He  does  n't  know  who  did  it."  There  was  a  hint 


96  THE  LEGATEE 

of  complacence  in  his  voice,  and  Katherine's  an 
swer  came  with  frowning  haste. 

"  He  will  find  out  who  did  it.  He  will  find  out 
or  lose  his  mill  in  trying.  Can't  you  see  how 
strong  he  is  and  how  determined?  He  is  merci 
less  too.  He  is  n't  a  bad  man,  but  the  life  here 
is  a  jest  to  him.  The  men  are  puppets  in  his  eyes, 
because  he  knows  nothing  about  them  ;  he  does  n't 
want  to  know.  Oh,  if  he  should  discover  this  — 
can't  you  see  what  a  crime  it  is !  —  he  would  never 
be  able  to  make  excuses.  If  I  should  tell  father, 
he  would  be  afraid  of  partisanship  and  would  say, 
'  Tell  Mr.  Proctor,'  but  —  Oh,  is  n't  there  some 
other  way  ?  " 

Mr.  Livingstone's  attention  had  wandered.  He 
had  drawn  nearer  the  steps  and  was  looking  in  at 
the  church  door.  "  Proctor  's  in  there,"  he  an 
nounced. 

"  I  know.  That 's  why  I  'm  here.  I  intended 
to  tell  Mr.  Proctor  when  he  came  out,  but  "  —  A 
new  idea  claimed  her,  and  her  face  lighted  with 
relief.  "  Why,  Mr.  Livingstone,  Mr.  Detiere  said 
that  you  held  meetings  with  the  men.  If  you  do 
that,  you  can  protect  the  people  from  themselves  ; 
you  can  make  them  see  how  wicked  this  is  —  how 
wicked  and  useless.  They  don't  think.  How  can 
they?  But  you  can  teach  them  better.  If  you 
will  do  that,  I  won't  need  to  tell  Mr.  Cole.  Will 
you?" 

Mr.  Livingstone's  thoughts  were  still  with  the 
group  within,  and  his  moody  eyes  said  that  he  did 
not  find  them  pleasing.  "  The  prosperity  of  the 


WHILE  THE  PENDULUM  WAS  SWINGING    97 

wicked  is  an  offense,"  he  said  absently.  "  Christ 
overthrew  the  tables  of  the  money  changers." 

"  Why,  Mr.  Livingstone,  you  surely  can't  mean 
• —  What  would  become  of  the  village  if  the  mill 
should  burn  ?  " 

The  perplexed  horror  of  the  girl's  tone  waked 
the  man.  "  I  don't  mean  that  I  approve,"  he  said 
with  some  eagerness.  "  I  think  that  such  an  at 
tempt  is  ill-advised  —  ill-advised.  I  shall  tell  the 
men  so.  You  won't  tell  Mr.  Cole  ?  " 

The  girl's  perplexity  took  on  recoil.  That  re 
quest  should  not  have  come  from  him.  The  group 
within  the  church  was  moving,  and  she  watched  it 
breathlessly.  It  was  now  or  not  at  all. 

"  What  can  I  do  ?  "  she  asked  aloud.  "  What  is 
right  ?  Yes,  Mr.  Livingstone,  I  must  tell  Mr. 
Cole.  That  is  the  only  way."  She  stopped.  Mr. 
Proctor  was  coming  down  the  aisle,  and  his  glance, 
searching  the  night,  seemed  once  more  to  fall  upon 
her  own.  Amusement  lurked  in  his  mouth  and 
altered  the  lines  of  his  eyes  —  amusement  he  had 
turned  his  back  upon  the  others  to  conceal. 

The  pendulum  swung  back.  "  No,  I  am  wrong." 
Her  tone  was  unwavering  now.  "  It  will  be  wiser 
to  leave  this  all  with  you.  You  can  help  the  men 
and  watch  them.  Then  I  won't  need  to  tell  Mr. 
Cole,  will  I  ?  You  will  promise  ?  " 

The  young  man's  solemn  eyes  turned  full  upon 
her.  "  You  do  not  need  to  say  that,"  he  rebuked. 
"  My  life  is  one  long  promise  to  help  the  men  to 
do  the  thing  the  Lord  deems  best." 

"  The  thing  the  Lord  deems  best."     Katherine 


98  THE  LEGATEE 

echoed  the  words  as  she  ran  down  the  street.    Was 
that  what  she  had  done ;  or  had  she  meddled  ? 

She  reached  the  house  and  stood  upon  the 
door-step  waiting.  The  darkness  was  a  welcome 
shelter  for  her  sudden  fear  and  shame.  To  what 
was  she  committed  ?  The  step  from  girlhood  out 

—  she  recalled,  mechanically,  the   ancient  phrase 

—  was  already  of  the  past.     The  last  few  hours 
had  put  her  far  beyond  the  line.     Her  first  deceit 

—  and  why  ?     Oh,  but  the  people  !     They  loved 
her  father  ;  they  were  worth  it  all. 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY 

OF 


CHAPTER  X 

MISTRESS    QUIXOTE 

"A  UNION  temperance  meeting  will  be  held 
in  the  schoolhouse  Saturday,  September  9th,  at 
eight  o'clock.  Dr.  Griggs  and  other  prominent 
speakers  will  address  the  meeting.  All  are  cor 
dially  invited.  Come  and  bring  your  friends." 

This  notice,  printed  on  brown  wrapping  paper, 
was  seen  the  next  morning  nailed  to  the  hacked 
tree  trunk  that  served  as  a  hitching  post  in  front 
of  Torstenson's  store,  and  it  did  its  work  so  well 
that  the  succeeding  evening  found  the  schoolhouse 
crowded. 

It  was  not  that  the  subject  of  temperance  was 
alluring,  —  that  was,  indeed,  an  aged  and  distaste 
ful  tale,  —  but  what  it  lacked  in  novelty  the  name 
of  Dr.  Griggs  supplied.  He  was  said,  by  those 
attending  the  mid-week  meetings,  to  have  a  gift 
for  prayer.  Such  a  reputation  did  not  seem  com 
patible  with  his  worldly  garb,  and  controversy 
flourished.  Temperance  too  ?  The  term  gathered 
social  importance  from  association  with  his  name. 

The  meeting  justified  anticipation.  "  Dr. 
Griggs  is  a  grand  speaker,"  the  women  said,  as 
they  went  home  that  evening,  and  their  husbands, 
stumbling  in  front,  mumbled  an  affirmative.  They 


100  THE  LEGATEE 

were  curiously  stirred.  They  had  heard  little  of 
temperance,  but  much  of  conflict,  of  aggression, 
and  the  fife  that  led  the  singing  had  called  them  to 
their  feet,  not  once,  but  many  times.  The  familiar 
strains  of  "  Hold  the  Fort "  became  a  war  cry ; 
they  sang  it  till  their  bodies  swung  to  and  fro  to 
the  rhythm  of  its  marching  time.  They  had  not 
been  asked  to  sign  the  pledge  ;  they  had  been 
summoned  to  battle,  and  they  thrilled  with  the 
conviction  that  they  must  unite  and  overthrow  — 
something.  Dr.  Griggs  had  spoken  of  oppression. 
They  grasped  the  word.  They  heard  too  of  fight 
ing  and  of  faith,  and  the  alliteration  stirred  them. 
Liquor  was  not  their  only  foe.  Before  they  went 
home  they  rose  in  a  body  and  voted  to  continue 
the  meetings. 

It  was  several  evenings  later  when  Mr.  Proctor 
came  in.  Karen  and  George  Cole  had  spoken  to 
him  urgently  about  attending  the  meetings,  and 
he  had  laid  aside  his  books  and  pipe  to  pleasure 
them.  He  was  late,  and  the  audience  had  just  risen. 

"  '  Am  I  a  soldier  of  the  cross  ?  '  " 

they  asked  with  fervor. 

The  fife  was  leading  as  usual,  its  piercing  note 
dominant  and  compelling,  but  as  Mr.  Proctor 
entered  the  fifer  faltered  and  lost  his  place.  It 
was  only  for  a  moment,  but  the  scarcely  apprecia 
ble  break  had  done  its  work,  and  the  audience, 
swayed  by  an  emotion  that  the  fifer  had  set  free, 
stopped  singing  and  turned  toward  the  newcomer 
with  frowns.  A  hiss  came  from  the  rear  of  the 


MISTRESS  QUIXOTE  101 

room,  and  though  it  was  smothered  by  a  friendly 
hand,  mouths  shaped  to  answer  it  with  others. 

One  could  have  counted  heart  beats.  The  sullen 
eyes  that  met  Mr.  Proctor's  were  hostile,  and  as  he 
faced  them  his  own  grew  scornfully  defiant.  The 
notes  of  the  fife  dropped  with  a  wail,  and  a  little 
child,  holding  fast  to  its  mother's  gown,  began  to 
cry.  Hands  were  clenching,  —  in  all  that  room 
one  man  stood  at  bay,  —  when  a  voice,  uncertain 
and  faltering,  began  to  sing,  — 

"  '  Rock  of  ages,  cleft  for  me.'  " 

In  the  hushed  room  the  faint  notes  echoed  like 
smothered  memories.  Katherine  Edmister  was 
singing,  and  her  girlish  face  took  for  the  moment 
the  contour  of  her  father's  graver  one.  The  people 
breathed  hard. 

" '  Let  me  hide  myself  in  Thee.'  " 

They  had  sung  that  over  many  a  coffin,  and  Dr. 
Edmister,  haggard  from  watching,  had  stood  be 
side  them.  Were  they  forgetting  him  now  ?  If 
so,  the  face  that  memory  summoned  held  no  re 
buke.  And  this  was  his  daughter.  Their  voices 
rushed  to  her  rescue. 

"  '  Save  me,  Lord  !  and  make  me  pure,'  " 

sang  voices  that  were  husky.  A  woman  standing 
next  to  Mr.  Proctor  opened  her  hymn  book  and 
offered  it  to  him  with  a  deprecatory  smile.  He 
hesitated  a  moment,  then  his  look,  too,  softened, 
and  taking  the  book  he  began  to  sing.  Wilson- 
port  had  never  heard  him  sing,  and  the  deep  notes 
that  made  their  way  through  the  sound  already 


102  THE  LEGATEE 

rising  added  new  tension  to  the  air.  He  was  sing 
ing  as  he  had  never  sung  in  the  days  when  he 
roared  out  the  refrain  to  a  college  chorus,  for  the 
melody  was  a  vent  to  a  perturbed  heart.  The  hurt 
of  the  moment  before  had  been  a  real  one,  and  he 
was  combatant  and  sore.  The  isolation  that  he 
had  felt  at  his  superintendent's  wedding  had  not 
lost  force  in  the  succeeding  six  months,  and  to 
night  it  did  not  seem  a  thing  for  shrugs  and 
laughter.  Why  submit  to  it  longer  ?  And  yet  — - 

"  '  Simply  to  Thy  cross  I  cling  ' " 

sang  the  voices.  There  was  no  hostility  in  them 
now,  and  with  the  healing  of  each  word  the  re* 
sentment  in  Mr.  Proctor's  mind  died.  He  looked 
around,  and  timid  glances  of  friendliness  met  him. 

There  was  nothing  in  his  answering  look  to 
send  their  eyes  away. 

George  Cole  rose  at  the  conclusion  of  the  sing 
ing.  His  eyes  were  lustrous,  and  his  mouth  wore 
decision  that  it  had  lacked  for  a  time. 

"  I  will  ask  Mr.  Ellis  to  lead  us  in  prayer,"  he 
said. 

Mr.  Ellis  bowed  his  head  with  a  prayer  for  help 
that  the  congregation  did  not  hear.  Could  he  but 
say  the  right  thing !  The  voice  that  asked  for 
guidance  came  from  a  full  heart. 

"  Father  in  Heaven,"  he  begged,  "  be  patient 
with  our  blindness  and  lead  us  into  the  safe  pas 
tures  of  Thy  peace."  "Peace."  The  word  was 
grateful,  and  the  room  calmed  with  that  stillness 
that  comes  from  unity  of  thought.  He  prayed  for 


MISTRESS   QUIXOTE  103 

charity,  for  help  to  endure  the  rigors  of  the  day, 
and  his  listeners  murmured  "  Amen."  The  care- 
lined  faces  lifted  at  the  close  of  the  prayer  were 
softened  and  subdued. 

Dr.  Griggs  rose  and  smiled  glitteringly.  "  We 
will  disband  early  this  evening,"  he  said,  "  but  I 
will  ask  the  officers  of  the  Knights  of  Temperance 
to  remain  for  consultation.  There  will  be  no  more 
meetings  until  further  notice." 

The  people  scattered  slowly.  They  stood  un 
easily,  watching  Mr.  Proctor  and  making  shame 
faced  excuses  to  speak  to  him.  The  atmosphere 
was  distinctly  friendly,  but  the  fact  remained  that 
Mr.  Proctor's  coming  had  broken  up  the  meeting, 
and  he  was  keenly  alive  to  the  significance  of  this 
change  of  front.  He  owed  the  rise  in  the  tempera 
ture  to  Katherine  Edmister,  as  he  well  knew,  and 
he  made  his  way  at  once  to  where  she  was  sitting 
with  Mrs.  Green. 

"  Well,"  he  began,  then  stopped  and  held  out 
his  hand  without  speaking.  This  fiery  little  Kath 
erine,  whom  he  had  ignored,  seemed  suddenly  very 
near  to  him,  very  much  his  friend.  To  him  she 
had  grown  to  womanhood  in  this  last  hour,  and  an 
homage  that  was  not  wholly  gratitude  crept  into 
his  eyes. 

Katherine  looked  embarrassed,  but  at  the  same 
time  oddly  reproachful.  "  It  was  nothing,"  she 
said  nervously.  "  Come,  Mrs.  Green,  we  must  go. 
It  was  nothing." 

He  placed  himself  before  her.  "  It  was  every 
thing,"  he  insisted.  "  Won't  you  permit  me  to 


104  THE  LEGATEE 

thank  you  ?  I  know  what  you  would  say,  —  that 
you  did  it  in  the  interests  of  justice,  that  I  was 
the  under  dog,  —  but  that  does  n't  change  my 
gratitude.  I  've  always  been  the  under  dog  with 
you,  if  you  but  knew  it,"  he  added,  with  a  touch 
of  half -mechanical  gallantry. 

To  his  surprise  the  girl  flushed  painfully.  "  No, 
no !  "  she  cried  with  protest  out  of  all  proportion 
to  his  idle  speech.  "  You  have  always  had  the 
upper  hand.  If  you  had  been  the  l  under  dog,'  as 
you.  call  it,  we  should  have  been  spared  more 
trouble  than  you  know." 

So  the  swift  defense  that  had  warmed  his  heart 
she  called  "  trouble."  He  turned  away,  rebuffed 
and  annoyed.  This  Mistress  Quixote  ran  atilt  at 
any  windmill  that  offered,  careless  of  the  cause 
intrenched  behind.  He  had  been  a  fool  to  think 
otherwise. 

Karen  was  smiling  with  invitation,  but  his  mood 
did  not  incline  him  to  meet  her  eyes.  He  went 
instead  to  Yngve. 

"  Yngve,"  he  began  without  greeting,  "  why  did 
you  hiss  me  to-night  ?  " 

Yngve  lifted  a  face  where  defiance  met  fear. 
"  How  do  you  know  that  I  did  it  ?  "  he  evaded. 

Mr.  Proctor  studied  him.  "  I  was  n't  sure  when 
I  asked,"  he  said  with  distaste.  "  I  am  now.  I  've 
stood  a  good  deal  of  nonsense  from  you  because  it 
did  n't  seem  worth  my  time  to  interfere.  I  think 
I  '11  speak  to  your  father.  It  is  time  he  took  you 
in  hand." 

The  boy  blanched  with  anger.     "  I  'm  my  own 


MISTRESS   QUIXOTE  105 

boss,"  he  blustered.  '*  It  is  n't  my  father's  busi 
ness  if  I  won't  submit  to  oppression." 

"  Oppression  !  "  meditated  Mr.  Proctor.  "  So, 
that 's  it.  And  this  is  called  a  temperance  meet 
ing."  He  smiled  rather  bitterly.  "  All  right, 
Yngve,  overthrow  oppression  by  all  means.  It 's 
a  wicked  thing,"  he  added  carelessly,  as  he  turned 
away. 

Yngve  followed.  "  What  is  it  that  you  think 
I  've  done  ?  "  he  asked  in  a  half  whisper. 

The  suspense  of  the  boy's  tone  brought  a  return 
of  Mr.  Proctor's  interest.  "  More  than  I  've  time 
or  inclination  to  tell,"  he  said  oracularly.  Since 
melodrama  was  on  the  boards,  he,  too,  would  play 
his  share. 

Yngve  looked  at  him  for  a  moment  with  shrewd 
ness  that  strove  hard  to  match  his  own,  then 
slouched  away.  He  had  been  outgeneraled  in 
wit,  but  that  was  not  important.  He  salved  his 
pride  with  a  fierce  mutter  to  the  effect  that  talk 
was  cheap. 

Mr.  Proctor  felt  equal  discomfort.  His  en 
counter  with  Yngve  had  been  distasteful.  He  had 
no  mind  to  play  the  bully,  and  the  boy,  whatever 
he  had  done,  was  Karen  Torstenson's  brother.  He 
turned  to  find  Karen,  but  she  was  absorbed  with 
Mr.  Livingstone,  and  he  went  away,  well  pleased 
to  be  left  to  his  own  thoughts. 

At  the  door  he  met  Ferdinante  Lauzeone.  He 
had  not  seen  her  since  the  day  that  she  had  come 
to  his  office,  but  hers  was  not  a  face  to  forget. 

"  Mr.  Detiere  and  me  was  sorry,"  she  said,  with 


106  THE  LEGATEE 

a  shy  smile.  It  was  the  first  open  allusion  that 
had  been  made  to  the  scene  of  the  evening,  and 
Mr.  Proctor  enjoyed  it.  The  woman  impressed 
him,  as  she  had  before,  with  her  splendid  panther 
grace,  and  he  felt  as  he  might  if  some  wild  crea 
ture  had  shown  him  trust  and  liking.  It  was  dif 
ficult  to  remember  that  she  stood,  night  after 
night,  at  the  bar  of  "  The  Farmer's  Friend." 

"  Thank  you."  He  smiled  in  turn.  "  So  De- 
tiere  is  here  ?  " 

The  Belgian's  dark  face  answered  for  him. 
"  The  doctor  has  a  great  girl,"  he  said  excitedly. 
"She  is  brave,  very.  She  mak'  the  folks  feel 
cheap." 

It  was  the  admiration  that  one  commanding  soul 
gives  to  another,  but  Mr.  Proctor  resented  it.  He 
turned  to  the  woman  beside  him. 

"  You  remember  the  day  that  you  came  to  my 
office,  you  asked  me  why  Adrien  was  not  work 
ing  ? "  he  questioned  hurriedly.  "  Did  n't  you 
know  that  he  was  going  away  the  next  day  ?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  the  woman.  She  started  down  the 
steps,  and  the  kindness  left  her  face.  "I  knew 
that  he  go  away,"  —  her  voice  came  back  from 
the  darkness,  —  "  but  if  he  have  so  much  money 
that  he  did  not  need  to  work,  why  did  he  not  stay 
at  home  ?  His  family  is  not  good  enough  for  him. 
We  don't  talk  right  any  more.  He  can't  stand  us 
since  he  knew  Katherine  Edmister." 


CHAPTER  XI 

THE   INITIAL   MOVE 

IT  was  a  week  later  when  Heinrich  knocked,  one 
evening,  at  Mr.  Proctor's  door.  Few  visitors  came 
to  this  house,  and  those  few  arrived  by  way  of  the 
kitchen  and  were  ushered  by  Jessie  into  the  apart 
ment  of  state.  It  proved  Heinrich's  excitement 
that  he  came  boldly  up  the  front  walk. 

Mr.  Proctor  greeted  him  with  misgiving.  "  Is 
Bertha  well  ?  "  he  asked,  as  he  led  the  way  into 
his  study.  The  lighthouse  had  seen  him  often 
since  the  day  that  he  had  sat  with  Bertha  on  the 
rock,  and  the  little  lame  girl's  horizon  had  grown 
pink  with  clouds  of  pleasure. 

"  Yes,  she  is  well."  Heinrich's  words  might  be 
laconic,  but  the  wrinkles  at  his  eyes  showed  up 
ward  curves.  There  were  several  roads  to  this 
man's  heart,  but  none  so  wide  and  free  of  access 
as  the  one  to  which  Bertha  held  the  keys. 

"  I  am  very  glad,"  Mr.  Proctor  said  with  slow 
heartiness.  "  Now  I  am  not  so  much  afraid  of 
your  bad  news.  You  have  bad  news,  Heinrich,  I 
know  from  your  face.  What  is  it  ?  " 

Heinrich  drew  a  soiled  paper  from  his  pocket 
and  fumbled  it  in  his  knotted  hands,  then  closed 
his  lips,  and  handed  it  to  Mr.  Proctor. 


108  THE  LEGATEE 

"It  is  silly.  I  think  that  boys  made  it,"  he 
said. 

The  paper  was  crumpled  and  finger  marked,  but 
the  printing  on  it  was  carefully  done,  and  Mr. 
Proctor  read  it  easily  in  the  waning  light. 

"  Boss,"  it  read,  "  Notice,  you  have  Caried  this 
Opreshion  far  as  you  can  be  Careful  the  Laboring 
man  is  standing  for  His  Eights  and  we  heer  notify 
you  to  take  a  Warning. 

Kof  TLU" 

Mr.  Proctor  read  it  twice  in  silence,  while  Hein- 
rich  looked  out  of  the  window.  Then  he  folded 
the  paper  and  put  it  into  his  pocket. 

"Well,"  he  said,  "my  unknown  friend  has  a 
long  name.  Where  did  you  find  this,  Heinrich  ?  " 

Heinrich  turned  a  relieved  face.  Words,  in 
this  foreign  tongue,  meant  little  more  than  con 
fusion  of  spirit,  but  he  had  a  lexicon  of  tones,  and 
Mr.  Proctor's  light  speech  was  balm  to  his  fear. 

"  On  the  path,"  he  explained,  "  below  the  big 
dead  tamarack." 

"  On  the  path,  but  nailed  to  a  tree,"  Mr.  Proc 
tor  supplemented.  "  I  see  where  you  tore  it  off. 
Have  you  shown  it  to  any  one  ?  " 

"  To  Bertha.     I  read  not  the  English." 

Mr.  Proctor  pondered.  "  You  remember  that  I 
saw  you  at  the  feed  loft,  Heinrich,"  he  said  at 
length.  He  took  the  paper  from  his  pocket  and 
looked  interrogation. 

Heinrich's  answering  look  was  dumbly  unhappy. 
"  I  cannot  tell."  His  voice  was  almost  sullen. 
"  I  go  there  no  more,  but  I  —  I  promised  "  — 


THE  INITIAL  MOVE  109 

"  I  understand.  You  promised  to  forget.  Do 
you  think  it  wise  to  forget  this  now  ?  " 

Heinrich  shook  his  head.  "  It  is  perhaps  boys  ?  " 
he  asked. 

It  was  Mr.  Proctor's  turn  to  shake  his  head. 
"  I  don't  think  so,"  he  said,  as  he  lighted  the  lamp. 
"  Most  of  the  boys  have  been  to  school  and  can 
spell  better.  Well,  whoever  wrote  it  was  fright 
ened,  or  he  would  n't  have  put  it  way  off  there  on 
the  tamarack  tree.  I  '11  find  one  on  my  office  door 
when  they  grow  bolder.  I  think  that,  after  all, 
this  is  another  case  for  poor  memories.  Suppose 
that  we  both  forget  ?  " 

Heinrich  looked  dubious,  though  deferential. 
He  touched  his  grizzled  hair  as  he  had  done  in  his 
sailor  days. 

"You  think  not  to  tell  the  doctor?"  he  sug 
gested. 

"  Yes,  I  might  tell  Dr.  Edmister,"  Mr.  Proctor 
agreed  thoughtfully,  "  though  I  've  an  impression 
that  he  tries  to  keep  himself  out  of  the  village 
troubles.  I  think  I  '11  go  up  there  this  evening." 

"  This  evening  ?  "  Heinrich's  tone  forgot  its 
deference  and  was  again  eager.  "  Then  will  you 
ask  him  to  get  a  sign  ?  " 

"  A  sign  ?  " 

"  Like  Dr.  Griggs.  I  asked  him,  and  he 
laughed." 

"  But  why  a  sign  for  him  ?  Every  one  knows 
him  for  fifty  miles  around.  You  don't  want  him 
to  copy  Dr.  Griggs  ?  " 

The  negative  in  Heinrich's  face  was  angry,  but 


110  THE  LEGATEE 

he  persisted.  "Folks  like  a  sign.  That's  why 
they  go  to  Dr.  Griggs.  You  tell  Dr.  Edmister  a 
sign  is  good." 

The  emotion  in  the  man's  words  touched  some 
thing  in  Mr.  Proctor's  heart  that  Wilsonport  was 
wont  to  leave  dormant. 

"Friends  are  good,  at  all  events,"  he  said. 
"  Dr.  Edmister  and  I  are  to  be  congratulated. 
Thank  you,  Heinrich." 

Heinrich  had  not  more  than  reached  the  gate 
when  Mr.  Proctor  started  for  the  house  on  the 
bluff.  He  had  not  seen  Dr.  Edmister  in  some 
time,  and  there  was  much  to  say.  Yet,  after  all, 
it  was  the  doctor's  daughter  who  was  with  him  as 
he  climbed  the  hill.  Her  he  had  not  seen  since 
the  evening  of  the  temperance  lecture.  He  had 
been  remiss  in  that.  Whatever  her  motive,  she 
had  come  to  his  defense.  He  must  not  permit  his 
annoyance  at  her  inconsistencies  to  blind  him  to 
that  fact. 

It  was  the  daughter  who  met  him.  She  was 
alone  in  the  big  living-room,  curled  cat-wise  in  an 
armchair  near  the  red  lamp,  and  she  looked  at  him 
over  a  barricade  of  books  and  magazines. 

"  Father  is  with  Mr.  Green  in  the  chicken  house, 
trying  to  catch  the  old  red  hen,"  she  said.  "  He  '11 
be  in  in  a  minute." 

"What's  the  red  hen  done?"  Mr.  Proctor 
asked,  as  he  drew  a  chair  near  her.  "  Is  it  the 
minister  to  dinner  ?  " 

Katherine's  nose  tilted  with  laughter.  "  It 's 
worse.  Mrs.  Green  is  going  to  have  the  sewing 


THE  INITIAL  MOVE  111 

circle  to  tea.  It 's  a  yearly  ceremony,  and  father 
and  I  are  hunting  for  a  hollow  tree.  We  're 
dreadfully  in  the  way." 

"  Come  and  have  dinner  —  supper  —  with  me." 
Mr.  Proctor  beamed  jubilantly  at  his  inspiration. 
"Jessie  will  find  a  rival  hen.  You  don't  know 
what  a  kindness  it  would  be  if  you  would  come." 

Katherine  looked  over  the  corner  of  the  lamp 
shade.  There  was  certainly  anticipation  in  his 
tone.  His  mouth,  too,  reassured  her ;  never  had 
she  seen  it  more  gravely  horizontal.  Excitement 
crept  into  her  eyes.  An  invitation  to  supper  which 
her  father  might  accept  would  justify  a  long  mark 
upon  the  calendar. 

"  But  father  "  —  she  hesitated.  "  He  's  never 
willing." 

"  We  '11  overpower  him.-  We  're  two  to  one  in 
this,"  He  smiled  that  they  two  should  be  linked 
in  a  common  cause.  "  We  '11  make  it  an  occasion 
of  state.  Shall  we  ask  any  one  else  ?  " 

"  Karen  ?  "  she  debated.  "  I  'm  sure  Jessie  will 
find  a  large  hen." 

"  Miss  Karen  by  all  means.     Any  one  else  ?  " 

"  Not  if  you  want  father  to  accept.  I  wish  he  'd 
come  in  now." 

He  came  at  once.  The  screams  of  disapproval 
from  the  chicken  house  had  been  quieting  for  some 
minutes,  but  they  found  an  echo  in  the  expression 
of  his  face. 

"  What  about  the  red  hen  ?  "  Mr.  Proctor  asked 
in  greeting.  "Miss  Katherine  and  I  have  been 
laying  plans." 


112  THE  LEGATEE 

"The  red  hen!  "  the  doctor  repeated  irascibly. 
"  Oh,  she 's  all  right.  Her  plumage  is  a  little 
ruffled,  that 's  all.  It  would  be  foolish  to  kill  a 
good  hen  like  that  just  at  this  season.  Ephraim 
tells  me  that  we  're  getting  very  few  eggs  as  it  is. 
I  wish  you  would  tell  Mrs.  Green,  Katherine,  that 
when  she  wishes  fowls  for  the  table  she  can  buy 
them.  Now  will  you  remember?  " 

"  I  will  remember,"  Katherine  meekly  replied. 
That  she  did  not  remind  her  father  that  this  was 
a  charge  of  weekly  occurrence  showed  that  she 
was  growing  older. 

The  doctor  recognized  her  clemency  and  grew 
apologetic.  "  I  get  attached  to  my  poultry,  and  — 
consistency  is  a  nuisance  anyway.  What  is  your 
plan,  Proctor?" 

"It's  been  a  rule  of  mine  to  dine  at  home,"  he 
said,  as  Mr.  Proctor  explained,  "  and  —  but  you  'd 
like  to  go,  would  you,  Katherine?  Well,  it's  a 
foolish  rule.  Day  after  to-morrow,  is  it  ?  Yes, 
we  '11  come  with  pleasure,  Mr.  Proctor." 

Katherine  looked  demurely  elated.  "  Father 
called  it  dinner  instead  of  supper,"  she  said. 
"  I  'm  going  out  to  dinner  at  last.  I  feel  as  if  I 
were  living  in  a  book.  It 's  going  to  be  a  festiv 
ity  —  my  first  dinner  party.  Think  of  your  re 
sponsibility  to  make  it  all  that  I  have  dreamed !  " 

Mr.  Proctor  smiled  at  her,  —  the  promised  even 
ing  was  assuming  festivity  in  his  own  mind,  —  but 
her  father  looked  up  sharply  as  he  drew  out  the 
chessboard. 

"  It  occurs  to  me  that  I  had  better  accept  more 


THE  INITIAL  MOVE  113 

invitations  or  go  where  more  will  be  tendered 
me,"  he  said,  as  he  polished  the  ivory  of  his  black 
queen.  "  Your  remarks,  Katherine,  are  not  wholly 
usual.  Are  you  ready  for  a  game,  Proctor  ?  " 

"  In  a  moment."  The  young  man  went  back  to 
his  business  with  distaste.  "  I  've  something  to 
show  you  first." 

He  told  briefly  of  Heinrich's  visit,  conscious  of 
Katherine's  attentive  ear.  This  was  not  a  matter 
for  listeners,  and  the  girl  had  already  shown  too 
much  inclination  to  be  a  partisan  in  these  affairs. 
The  word  "  trouble "  returned  to  rankle  in  his 
mind. 

Dr.  Edmister  examined  the  paper  with  care. 
"  It 's  a  '  Molly  Maguire  '  —  which  shows  that 
some  one  has  been  reading  the  papers.  I  'm  glad 
that  this  came  through  Heinrich,  for  I  've  been 
perplexed  about  him  —  not  doubtful,  though.  I 
don't  believe  that  this  amounts  to  much,  Proctor. 
It  reads  like  the  bravado  of  a  boy.  Yngve  Tor- 
stenson,  for  instance,  might  do  a  thing  like  this 
and  repent  in  the  sackcloth  of  fear  the  moment 
after.  Socialists  are  made  easily  at  nineteen  — 
and  as  easily  mended.  What  do  you  make  of  the 
signature  ?  " 

Mr.  Proctor  shook  his  head.  "  We  've  changed 
roles,"  he  said.  "  I  've  been  the  optimist  before. 
I  'm  not  now.  This  looks  to  me  like  the  initial 
move  in  what  you  are  pleased  to  call  my  game  of 
chess.  The  signature  I  've  not  made  out.  L.  U. 
is  'labor  union'  of  course,  and  K.  is  probably 
4  Knights,'  but  I  can't  find  a  word  to  fit  the  T.  I 


114  THE  LEGATEE 

canvassed  the  dictionary  on  my  way  up  here  to 
night.  I  'm  inclined  to  think  it  a  mistake  in  the 
printing.  It  looks  a  little  like  an  I.  Knights  of 
Industry  might  do." 

The  men  had  drawn  toward  the  table,  away 
from  Katherine,  and  she  had  taken  a  seat  in  a 
shadowed  corner,  as  if  wearied  with  their  talk. 
The  voice  that  came  from  her  now,  however,  was 
far  from  weary. 

"  Temperance  !  "  she  exclaimed.  "  Knights  of 
Temperance  Labor  Union  !  " 

The  men  turned  toward  her  and  tried  the  words 
in  their  own  minds. 

"Yes,  I  believe  that  is  it,  Proctor,"  said  the 
doctor,  nodding.  "  Katherine  has  it." 

"  Of  course  she  has  it."  Mr.  Proctor  felt  a 
throb  of  pleasure  that  somehow  made  his  speech 
short.  "  The  second  time  to  my  rescue,  Miss 
Katherine.  I  have  occasion  to  thank  you."  He 
started  toward  her  corner  as  he  spoke. 

"  Wait !  "  cried  the  girl.  She  rose,  and  her  right 
hand  grasped  the  back  of  her  chair.  "  Listen  to 
me  !  This  is  n't  the  beginning,  Mr.  Proctor.  They 
tried  to  burn  your  lumber  piles.  And  I  knew  it. 
Mr.  Detiere  tried  to  tell  Mr.  Cole,  but  I  would  n't 
let  him.  I  knew  it,  and  I  did  n't  tell  you.  But 
Mr.  Livingstone  promised  to  help,  and  "  — 

"  Stop,  Katherine  !  "  Dr.  Edmister  rose  heavily, 
and  his  face  was  white.  "  I  cannot  understand. 
One  sentence  at  a  time,  and  think  carefully  of 
what  you  say.  Now." 

The  pallor  of  the  doctor's  face  was  mirrored  in 


THE  INITIAL  MOVE  115 

his  daughter's,  but  she  met  his  eye.  "  I  told 
you."  She  spoke  to  her  father,  as  if  Mr.  Proctor 
were  not  there.  "  Some  one  tried  to  burn  Mr. 
Proctor's  lumber.  Mr.  Detiere  found  the  fire  and 
put  it  out.  Then  he  came  to  tell  Mr.  Cole.  He 
found  me  there  alone.  I  persuaded  him  to  drop 
the  matter  —  to  leave  it  with  me.  I  promised  to 
tell  Mr.  Cole  myself." 

In  crucial  moments  all  speech  is  elemental.  Dr. 
Edmister's  comment  was  what  Detiere's  had  been, 
"Why?" 

For  a  moment  the  girl  glanced  at  Mr.  Proctor. 
It  was  a  look  that  both  men  misread,  and  they 
judged  her  harshly. 

"Mr.  Detiere  was  in  search  of  Mr.  Living 
stone,"  she  answered.  "  He  thought  that  Mr.  Liv 
ingstone  had  started  the  fire.  He  was  angry ;  I  was 
afraid  he  might  do  harm.  Then  I  saw  Mr.  Liv 
ingstone  and  told  him  about  it.  He  promised  to 
help  the  men  —  to  teach  them  to  do  better.  I 
said  that  if  he  would  do  that  I  would  not  tell 
Mr.  Cole." 

The  cold  anger  of  the  doctor's  face  was  giving 
way  to  pain,  so  keen  that  Mr.  Proctor  interfered. 

"  Will  you  tell  me  "  —  his  voice  was  stern  even 
to  his  own  ears  —  "  why  you  changed  your  mind 
—  why  you  tell  us  now  ?  " 

"  Because  I  see  now  that  Mr.  Livingstone  has 
not  done  his  part."  She  spoke  to  Mr.  Proctor, 
but  her  eyes  battled  piteously  with  her  father's. 
"  Because  he  is  the  leader  in  the  temperance 
society,  and  if  this  notice  comes  from  the  Knights 


116  THE  LEGATEE 

of  Temperance,  it  shows  that  he  has  not  influenced 
the  men  as  I  thought  he  could.  I  tell  you  now  in 
the  interests  of  honor  and  justice." 

The  doctor  turned  from  her.  "  Honor  and  jus 
tice  !  "  he  said,  with  a  groan.  "  Those  are  not 
words  for  your  lips  to-night,  Katherine." 

The  girl  sought  the  chair-back  with  her  other 
hand  and  did  not  reply.  In  the  dim  room  her 
slight  figure  looked  unprotected  and  lonely,  but 
her  head  was  finely  erect.  Mr.  Proctor  found  a 
Curious  thrill  shaking  him.  He  sought  for  anger ; 
he  found  only  an  irrational  longing  to  comfort 
and  shield. 

The  pause  was  long,  though  no  one  seemed  to 
realize  it.  It  was  the  doctor  who  again  spoke. 

"  My  daughter  conspiring  with  men  like  Detiere 
and  Livingstone  —  and  against  your  property ! 
Mr.  Proctor,  I  have  no  words  to  offer  you." 

Proctor  turned  from  him  impatiently.  "  I  am 
convinced  that  Miss  Katherine  has  an  explana 
tion."  Unconsciously  he  drew  nearer  the  girl. 
"  Perhaps  she  can  make  it  with  less  difficulty  if  I 
leave  the  room." 

Katherine  looked  at  him  with  amaze  and  grati 
tude  that  stabbed  him.  Had  she  thought  him 
incapable  of  generosity?  The  line  of  her  lips 
quivered  for  the  first  time. 

"Her  explanations  are  due  you,  not  me,"  the 
doctor  interposed  sternly.  "  If  you  have  any  ex 
cuse  to  offer,  Katherine,  I  command  you  to  make 
it  now." 

"  Not  to  me,"  Mr.  Proctor  interrupted,  "  unless 


THE  INITIAL  MOVE  117 

she  wishes."  He  crossed  the  room  and  opened 
the  door.  "  Miss  Katherine  ?  " 

The  girl's  shamed  step  passed  him  without  halt 
ing.  She  bowed,  but  the  eyes  that  he  was  sud 
denly  eager  to  see  brighten  were  drooped. 

Dr.  Edmister  turned  with  indignation  to  the 
younger  man.  "You  take  much  upon  yourself, 
Proctor,"  he  said. 

"  And^will  take  more,"  the  young  man  blazed, 
"  if  you  hurt  her  so  again.  The  girl 's  flesh  and 
blood,  not  steel.  Think  what  you  said  to  her! 
And  she  's  the  heart  of  honor." 

"The  heart  'of  honor!  And  because  she  dis 
likes  you  she  connives  at  the  burning  of  your 
lumber  piles.  This  from  my  daughter  Kath 
erine  !  " 

"  Your  daughter  Katherine  is  the  heart  of  hon 
or."  Mr.  Proctor  walked  the  floor.  "  What  has 
she  done  after  all  ?  She  tried  to  save  Livingstone 
from  what  was,  to  her,  an  unjust  suspicion,  but 
when  she  found  that  she'd  made  mischief  she 
did  n't  stop  to  shield  him  or  herself.  She  told 
the  truth.  And  her  courage!  Listen  to  what 
she  did  for  me  the  other  night." 

He  told  the  story  earnestly,  for  memory  lived 
again  that  hostile  moment  and  its  swift  recoil. 
The  doctor's  face  softened. 

"That  was  like  her,"  he  said  more  gently, 
Then  the  knife  turned  again.  "But  how  could 
she  have  done  this !  I  've  been  proud  of  my 
daughter,  Proctor." 

"  And  rightly.     But  can't  you  see  ?     All  that 


118  THE  LEGATEE 

she  did  was  to  try  to  save  Livingstone.  A  woman 
may  always  be  forgiven  that." 

"  To  save  Livingstone  at  your  expense.  Has  she 
no  sense  of  equity  ?  And  it  was  not  a  woman's 
business."  , 

"  Everything  is  a  woman's  business  —  at  times," 
Proctor  said  with  some  gravity.  "  When  the  in 
terests  of  two  men  are  in  balance  with  a  woman, 
one  man  or  the  other  must  go  to  the  wall.  I  was 
the  other  man." 

The  doctor  turned  with  squared  shoulders. 
"  Preposterous !  " 

"  But  it 's  not  the  first  time  that  she  's  defended 
him,"  Proctor  argued,  and  he  sketched  Kather- 
ine's  attitude  the  morning  that  he  had  found  her 
with  Livingstone  in  front  of  the  schoolhouse. 
"  She  hurled  herself  and  her  theorems  at  the 
breach,"  he  concluded,  "  without  a  thought." 

"  But  Livingstone !  "  the  doctor  protested. 

"  He  's  been  her  teacher.  The  situation  's  old. 
It  is  not  a  matter  that  I  would  choose  to  discuss, 
but  it  seems  the  explanation.  Anything  is  better 
than  that  you  should  judge  her  as  you  do  now." 

There  was  silence  after  this,  which  the  doctor 
broke  with  effort.  "  What  do  you  plan  to  do, 
Proctor  ?  The  paper,  too  —  what  about  that  ?  I 
retract  what  I  said  about  its  unimportance." 

The  young  man  waked  from  what  seemed  a 
reverie.  "  I  have  n't  thought."  His  tone  was 
abstracted.  "  Never  mind  about  that  to-night. 
You  '11  dine  with  me  on  Thursday,  doctor  ?  " 

"  After  this  ?  "     The  doctor  looked  denial. 


THE  INITIAL  MOVE  119 

"Why  not  the  more?  Will  you  renew  my 
invitation  to  Miss  Katherine?  I  think  that  she 
will  understand  and  come." 

The  doctor  drew  himself  together.  "  You  are 
generous,"  he  said.  "  I  am  glad  to  accept  your 
kindness  for  myself  and  daughter.  We  will 


come." 


CHAPTER  XII 

WHEKE   JESSIE    REIGNED 

MK.  PROCTOR  prepared  for  his  dinner  with  a 
nervous  care  which  would  have  amused  himself 
had  it  been  less  unconscious.  He  belonged  to  the 
helpless  type  of  men  where  household  matters 
were  concerned  and  showed,  as  a  rule,  a  truly 
Elisha-like  indifference  as  to  the  methods  of  his 
ministering  ravens ;  but  now,  spurred  by  the  mem 
ory  of  Katherine's  assured  announcement  that  this 
was  to  be  an  occasion  of  the  world  worldly,  he 
gave  his  menu  serious  consideration. 

The  task  before  him  was  more  unfamiliar  than 
the  scaling  of  logs  had  been  six  months  before, 
but  his  memory,  stimulated  by  study  of  a  cook 
book  which  he  stealthily  extracted  from  a  drawer 
in  the  kitchen  table,  served  him  well,  and  he  sur 
veyed  his  completed  list  of  dishes  with  a  smile 
born  of  the  anticipatory  complacence  of  his  palate. 

"  This  is  to  be  a  dinner,  not  a  supper,"  he  ex 
plained  to  Jessie  when  he  carried  the  list  to  her 
for  consultation,  "and  you  must  have  the  plates 
brought  in  at  different  times,  as  I  have  marked 
here,  not  put  on  the  table  all  at  once.  You  can 
hire  all  the  help  you  need,  and  I  would  like  you 
to  find  a  young  girl  to  wait  on  the  table.  We  will 
have  the  soup  "  — 


WHERE  JESSIE  REIGNED  121 

Where  or  how  he  would  have  the  soup  was 
never  known.  Jessie,  who  had  been  stolidly  wash 
ing  dish  towels  throughout  his  explanation,  was 
halfway  down  the  steps,  one  hand  full  of  clothes 
pins,  the  other  supporting  an  unsteady  structure 
of  moist  toweling,  and  the  angle  of  her  neck  sug 
gested  uncompromising  deafness. 

The  futility  of  annoyance  was  a  lesson  concern 
ing  which  the  man  was  fast  growing  letter-perfect. 
Since  he  had  learned  that  his  moods  were  a  mat 
ter  of  complete  indifference  to  all  about  him,  his 
temper  had  greatly  improved  he  told  himself,  and 
he  now  awaited  Jessie's  return  with  patience  com 
pounded  full  as  much  of  amusement  as  of  resigna 
tion. 

His  second  essay  was  more  discreet.  "  You 
know  how  to  cook  all  of  these  things  so  well  that 
I  want  to  show  Dr.  Edmister  what  you  can  do," 
he  cajoled,  but  the  look  which  Jessie  turned  upon 
him  painted  so  visibly  the  childishness  of  his 
palpable  flatteries  that  he  respected  her  wordless 
scorn. 

"  What  shall  we  have,  then  ? "  he  asked  at 
length,  with  the  meekness  of  utter  defeat.  "  I 
suppose  that  you  are  willing  to  give  them  some 
thing  to  eat?" 

Jessie  paused  in  her  vindictive  scrubbing  of  the 
top  of  the  kitchen  table  and  again  found  her 
tongue. 

"  Dinner  is  dinner  ;  supper  is  supper,"  she  said, 
pulling  at  her  tightly  rolled  sleeves,  and  with  this 
darkly  oracular  remark  she  turned  toward  her 


122  THE  LEGATEE 

employer  a  look  which  experience  told  him  beto 
kened  a  listening  ear. 

"  Very  well,  call  it  supper,  then.  Here,  take 
the  list,  and  select  the  dishes  that  you  're  willing 
to  have,  but  please  don't  leave  out  either  the 
chicken  or  the  whitefish." 

Jessie  took  the  extended  list,  only  to  let  it  drop 
to  the  floor,  and  turned  again  to  her  scrubbing. 

"  Whitefish  is  grand  eating,"  she  said,  as  she 
stopped  to  pour  the  soft  soap  upon  her  cloth, 
"  but  you  '11  find  it  awful  messy  on  the  same  plate 
with  chicken." 

The  suggestive  industry  of  her  pose  discouraged 
further  conversation,  and  Mr.  Proctor  made  the 
most  of  his  toppling  dignity  as  he  retreated  to  his 
room.  If  he  were  an  oppressor,  the  whirligig  of 
time  in  Jessie's  hands  was  bringing  odd  revenges. 

He  was  apparently  deep  in  his  papers  when  the 
door  of  the  study  softly  opened  and  Jessie's  pro 
file  showed  at  the  enlarging  crack. 

"  We  '11  have  riz  biscuit  for  supper  to-night," 
she  said  casually,  her  one  visible  eye  directed  to 
ward  the  ceiling,  "  and  I  dunno  as  I  care,  after  all, 
if  you  do  smoke  in  the  parlor." 

The  thoughts  which  Jessie  had  interrupted  had 
not  concerned  themselves  wholly  with  papers. 
There  was  a  question  mark  in  Mr.  Proctor's  mind 
whenever  he  thought  of  Dr.  Edmister  and  Kather- 
ine,  and  he  was  considering  it  now.  The  appeal  in 
Katherine's  face  would  not  leave  him.  How  had 
her  father  answered  her  ?  His  own  share,  too,  in 
the  conversation  left  a  prickling  memory.  Why 


WHERE  JESSIE   REIGNED  123 

had  he  been  so  zealous  in  suggesting  explanations 
for  the  girl's  conduct  ?  A  lurking  sense  of  pro 
portion  whispered  that  he  had  been  rude. 

Dr.  Edmister's  face,  as  he  saw  it  the  next  even 
ing,  silenced  his  doubts.  To  all  intents  it  was  the 
same  —  serene,  half-humorous,  indulgent.  The 
doctor's  manner  to  his  daughter,  too,  betrayed 
no  change.  Mr.  Proctor  felt  relief.  Katherine's 
attitude  toward  himself  mattered  little  now.  Yet 
he  had  thought  that  she  might  meet  him  with  a 
franker  smile. 

Supper  materialized  as  fried  chicken,  biscuit 
light  as  the  puffballs  of  the  woods,  and  mashed 
potatoes  that  frothed  over  the  curving  edges  of 
the  dish.  It  was  not  a  meal  that  permitted  of 
apology,  and  the  story  of  frustrated  social  ambi 
tions,  which  the  host  had  reserved  as  the  climax 
of  his  entertainment,  seemed  so  out  of  place  that 
he  suppressed  it.  It  may  have  been  that  Karen's 
presence  changed  his  perspective.  At 'all  events, 
the  tale  lost  humor  in  his  eyes. 

The  hour  at  the  supper  table  was  a  pleasure  so 
distinct  that  Mr.  Proctor  marveled  that  he  should 
have  deferred  its  enjoyment  for  so  long.  It  was 
good  to  play  the  host  once  more,  and  two  of  his 
guests,  at  least,  were  in  an  appreciative  humor. 
Of  Katherine's  attitude  he  was  not  so  sure.  Could 
her  father  have  told  her  of  what  had  been  said 
about  Livingstone  ?  Impossible !  He  put  the 
thought  away,  yet  with  -it  he  could  not  dismiss 
his  irritation.  Since  he  had  overlooked  his  private 
wrongs  to  offer  the  olive  branch  of  this  evening's 


124  THE  LEGATEE 

hospitality,  it  was  absurd  of  the  girl  to  build  a 
barrier  of  reserve  between  them.  With  Karen 
he  had  no  doubts.  She  talked  little,  but  her  ready 
laughter  filled  the  pauses  with  tinkling  music 
more  effective  than  speech,  and  her  hair  was  the 
color  note  of  the  lamp-lit  room. 

"  You  '11  have  a  wild  time  at  Birch  Creek  next 
week,"  the  doctor  said,  as  they  lingered  at  table. 
"  The  Belgians  will  be  having  their  harvest  dance. 
Will  you  try  to  run  the  mill?  " 

"  Will  I  try  to  run  the  mill  ?  "  Mr.  Proctor 
echoed  perplexedly.  "  Why,  yes,  —  though  Cole 
did  say  something  about  expecting  that  Detiere 
would  shut  down  on  Saturday.  I  don't  like  to 
have  him  do  it,  for  we  're  crowded,  but  at  the  same 
time  I  'd  be  sorry  to  run  counter  to  the  scruples  of 
the  men.  It 's  a  semi-religious  festival,  is  n't  it  ?  " 

Dr.  Edmister  smiled  confidentially  at  the  cornice. 
"  It 's  the  kermess,  properly.  Kirk  means  church, 
mess  means  mass,"  he  answered  with  categorical 
evasion. 

Mr.  Proctor  looked  interested.  "  I  'm  familiar 
with  the  Flemish  kermess,"  he  said.  "  It 's  a  pic 
turesque  custom." 

Dr.  Edmister's  hand  covered  his  mouth,  but 
his  eyes  were  regretful.  "  Look  here,  Proctor,"  he 
warned,  "  remember  that  a  harvest  festival  in  these 
pineries  is  one  thing  ;  a  fete  in  Flanders  is  another 
—  or  looks  so  in  an  engraving.  We  're  talking  at 
cross-purposes.  You  '11  be  wiser  at  the  end  of  the 
week.  As  to  running  your  mill,  you  '11  have  not  a 
word  to  say  about  it." 


WHERE  JESSIE  REIGNED  125 

Karen's  mouth  looked  reproach.  This  was  not 
conversation  to  her  mind,  and  she  let  Mr.  Proctor 
hear  her  sigh.  He  turned  to  her  at  once.  "  Have 
you  been  out  to  Birch  Creek,  Miss  Karen  ?  " 

Karen  shook  her  head.  "  I  'm  not  interested 
in  Birch  Creek,"  she  said  with  some  complacence. 
"  Mr.  Livingstone  says  it  is  a  sink  of  iniquity." 

Despite  his  wish,  the  schoolmaster's  name  drew 
Proctor's  eyes  to  Katherine.  He  was  rewarded  by 
a  face  that  again  showed  animation ;  the  reformer 
in  the  girl  had  waked. 

"  Why  should  n't  one  be  interested  ?  "  she  de 
manded  dogmatically.  "  They  're  human  beings 
at  Birch  Creek  —  sink  of  iniquity  or  not." 

"  But  I  don't  like  to  talk  about  such  people." 
Karen  looked  daintily  petulant.  "  Mr.  Living 
stone  says  it  is  n't  a  nice  place  for  a  lady  to  go." 

A  shadow  strayed  across  the  talk,  and  the 
remainder  of  the  evening  passed  less  happily. 
Karen's  somewhat  assured  use  of  the  schoolmas 
ter's  name  suggested  a  new  complication  to  Proc 
tor's  mind.  It  came  to  him  suddenly  that  Kath 
erine  must  be  lonely.  For  even  Karen  had  just 
shown  that  she  did  not  comprehend.  He  looked 
over  at  Katherine  and  remembered  once  more 
that  he  had  arranged  for  this  evening  at  her 
suggestion.  He  was  regretful  that  it  did  not 
give  her  pleasure. 

"As  to  the  paper  Heinrich  brought  you,"  Dr. 
Edmister  asked  as  he  was  leaving  —  "  what  have 
you  done  ?  " 

Mr.  Proctor  welcomed   the  advance.     He   had 


126  THE  LEGATEE 

feared  that  the  doctor  might  choose  to  make  the 
matter  a  forbidden  topic. 

"Nothing,"  he  said,  "beyond  doubling  the 
night  watch  at  the  mill  and  warning  the  men  that 
they  must  be  more  careful  about  flying  sparks. 
They  can  read  a  warning  into  that  if  their  con 
sciences  are  sensitive.  Everything  is  going  well. 
My  mill  is  sawing  lumber  eleven  hours  a  day,  and 
I'm  unmolested  personally.  What  more  would 
you?" 

"  I  would  several  things  —  among  them  that 
this  matter  had  not  come  between  us.  My  daugh 
ter"— 

"  Has  done  no  harm.  I  'm  sorry  that  you  gave 
that  a  second  thought.  I  did  not.  Won't  you 
forget  it  ?  " 

The  doctor  smiled  at  the  phrase.  "  Complaisant 
memories  seem  the  mode  among  us.  Perhaps  it 's 
as  well.  Here  's  a  curious  incident.  Detiere  came 
to  me  the  other  day  professionally.  Climbed  up 
to  the  house  and  asked  me  to  prescribe  for  him." 

Mr.  Proctor  whistled.     "  Detiere  sick !  " 

"  Sick !  No.  Absolutely  the  most  perfect  thing 
physically  it  was  ever  my  good  fortune  to  see.  I 
felt  as  I  might  if  a  mastodon  had  wandered  in 
and  asked  for  a  nerve  tonic.  No,  he  simply 
wanted  medicine  —  he  said.  But  Louis  Detiere 
developing  imagination  as  a  hypochondriac  is  a 
situation." 

"Not  a  pleasant  situation,"  Mr.  Proctor  began, 
but  the  girls  were  entering  the  room,  and  he  com 
pleted  his  thought  with  another  half-smothered 


WHERE  JESSIE  REIGNED  127 

whistle.     "  By  the  way,"  he  went  on,  "  when  do  you 
order  your  sign  ?  " 

The  doctor  smiled  as  he  lighted  his  lantern. 
"  Heinrich  is  a  wicked  and  perverse  generation," 
he  said.  "  I  can't  convince  him  that  there 's  work 
enough  for  Dr.  Griggs  and  myself,  and  the  more 
good  men  the  better  for  the  village.  Well,  tell 
me  about  the  keriness.  You  'd  better  go  out  and 
see  it." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

THE   KERMESS 

THE  next  week  brought  business  to  drive  the  ker- 
mess  from  Mr.  Proctor's  mind.  It  was  on  Wednes 
day  that  Cole  recalled  it  to  his  somewhat  perplexed 
consciousness. 

"  Detiere  's  running  yet  —  full  handed,"  Cole 
commented. 

"Well,  why  not?"  Mr.  Proctor  asked  sharply. 
"Why  not?" 

"  It  mostly  happens  that  the  men  are  too  drunk 
to  work  by  the  middle  of  the  week.  Xavier  sent 
a  load  of  beer  out  last  week.  They  have  meetings 
and  dances  every  night.  They  '11  have  to  knock  off 
by  Saturday." 

Proctor's  lips  pressed  more  firmly.  "  Find  out 
for  me  whether  they  stop  work  on  Saturday." 

It  was  late  Saturday  afternoon  when  Cole  came 
again.  The  shingle  mill  had  been  running  all  day, 
he  said,  and  his  face  was  nonplussed.  The  mes 
senger  had  reported  Detiere  as  swearing  like  a 
fiend  and  driving  the  men  like  a  tiger,  and  Cole 
repeated  the  similes  with  relish. 

"  He  never  did  it  for  your  uncle,"  he  wondered. 
"  You  don't  suppose  "  —  his  heavily  moulded  face 
grew  more  mobile  —  "  Detiere  was  at  the  last  meet- 


THE  KERMESS  129 

ing  at  the  schoolhouse.  You  don't  suppose  that 
he  could  have  experienced  a  change  ?  " 

Mr.  Proctor  shook  his  head.  Detiere's  face 
seemed  suddenly  before  him,  summoned  at  sound 
yf  his  name.  His  dominant  overflowing  person 
ality  was  more  than  a  memory.  He  was  there, 
rakish,  defiant,  viciously  handsome  as  a  fallen 
angel. 

"No,  Cole.  Don't  hunt  for  a  convert  there. 
I  'm  glad  that  he  kept  the  mill  going,  though.  I  '11 
speak  to  him  about  it.  I  'm  going  to  drive  out  to 
the  festival  to-morrow,  and  I  may  see  him." 

Cole's  teeth  gleamed.  His  sense  of  humor  lay 
deep,  but  it  could  be  stirred. 

"  Yes,"  he  said,  "  you  '11  probably  see  him." 

It  was  sundown  of  the  next  day  when  Mr.  Proc 
tor  reached  Birch  Creek.  The  dusty  road  that  ran 
through  the  clearing  was  empty,  and  the  buildings 
looked  deserted.  He  stopped  before  the  boarding- 
house  and  shouted  vigorously,  but  the  whine  of  a 
chained  dog  was  the  only  response.  A  cow,  at 
tracted  by  the  clamor,  came  slowly  toward  him,  and 
laying  her  head  across  the  log-railed  steps,  mooed 
plaintively  that  it  was  milking  time  and  she  had 
been  forgotten.  Still  no  one  came.  Mr.  Proctor 
pondered.  The  Catholic  church  was  a  half  mile 
beyond  the  settlement.  If  the  people  were  there  at 
vesper  service,  he  would  await  their  return. 

He  tied  his  horse  and  looked  for  a  point  of  van 
tage.  The  ground  back  of  the  mill  rose  slightly 
for  a  few  hundred  yards,  and  he  made  his  way  to 
the  top  of  the  incline. 


130  THE  LEGATEE 

"  '  Ah  !  qu'il  est  beau  le  Regiment, 
Des  Carabiniers  de  Belgique  ! '" 

The  song  reached  him  as  he  seated  himself  on  a  low 
stump.  He  was  just  in  time,  and  as  he  looked  to 
ward  where  the  road  plunged  again  into  the  timber, 
a  swelling  dust  cloud  heralded  the  singers. 

The  sun,  balancing  upon  the  summit  of  the  forest 
wall,  left  Mr.  Proctor  in  deep  shadow,  and  slanted 
redly  on  the  winding  road  below,  so  that  the  dust- 
shrouded  procession  danced  into  view  through  a 
spraying  shower  of  gold. 

"  '  Boire  et  chanter,  aimer  et  rire.'  " 

It  was  a  procession  of  Bacchantes.  Men  and 
women  were  there,  gray  heads  and  baby  faces, 
but  all  seemed  elfin  in  the  license  of  their  mirth. 
Laughing  and  stumbling  they  danced  along,  their 
figures  magnified  by  the  dust  haze  to  mythical  pro 
portions.  Their  arms  were  around  one  another,  and 
the  wind  played  with  their  disordered  hair.  Not 
all  of  them  were  singing  ;  ribald  laughter  punctu 
ated  jests  that  the  kindly  air  refused  to  carry  to 
the  watcher  on  the  slope  above. 

Before  them,  his  dark-curled  head  bent  with 
maudlin  laughter,  Louis  Detiere  led  the  way.  In 
his  arms  lay  a  woman,  her  lagging  weight  resisting 
the  ardor  of  his  movement,  but  no  burden  could 
entirely  hamper  the  grace  of  a  step  that  a  dancing 
satyr  might  have  envied.  With  all  the  noticeable 
figures  in  the  company  his  was  the  compelling  one. 
He  was  there,  as  in  the  mill,  the  governing  note. 

"  '  La  Belgique  et  la  liberte* !  '  " 


THE  KERMESS  131 

The  column  passed  through  the  settlement,  and 
the  voices  dimmed.  The  sun  dropped  behind  the 
screening  forest.  Mr.  Proctor  was  alone. 

He  untied  his  horse,  in  an  unwonted  mood  of 
analysis.  Somehow  Katherine's  cry,  "  They  're 
human  beings  ! "  battled  with  his  distaste  for  what 
he  had  just  seen.  Yes,  it  might  be  well  for  him 
to  see  more.  This  had  been  but  prelude.  He  had 
learned  from  the  random  talk  of  the  revelers  that 
they  were  on  their  way  to  the  Detiere  place.  He 
would  wait  for  an  hour  and  follow. 

Twilight  had  passed  when  he  reached  Detiere's 
clearing.  The  harvest  moon,  yellow  and  languor 
ous,  looked  over  the  treetops,  and  its  gentle  glamour 
disguised  the  squalor  of  the  refuse-strewn  dooryard. 
The  dancers  were  before  him.  The  squeak  of  a 
fiddle  sounded  above  the  shuffle  of  feet,  and  waver 
ing  squares  of  light  marked  open  windows. 

He  tied  his  horse  to  a  tree  —  the  log  fence  did 
not  suggest  permanent  anchorage  —  and  stood  by 
an  open  window.  The  dancers  had  passed  all  re 
cognition  of  exterior  impressions,  and  he  was  rea 
sonably  secure  from  observation. 

The  house  had  apparently  but  two  rooms,  into 
the  larger  of  which  he  was  looking.  Its  furniture 
had  been  removed,  and  its  pine  floor,  black  with 
unmentionable  usage,  furnished  insecure  footing 
for  a  crowd  of  reeling  men  and  women.  At  one 
end  of  the  room,  the  musician,  a  withered  old  man 
with  a  nutcracker  face,  held  his  fiddle  high  upon 
his  shoulder  to  protect  it  from  the  elbows  of  the 
trampling  crowd,  while  at  the  other,  unplaned 


132  THE  LEGATEE 

boards  mounted  upon  hogsheads  supported  a  line 
of  beer  kegs,  their  faucets  dripping  a  seductive 
stream  into  the  blackened  tin  cups  below. 

The  room  beyond  seemed,  from  glimpses  caught 
through  the  open  door,  to  be  piled  high  with  tou 
sled  heaps  of  babies.  Many  of  their  elders,  too, 
had  passed  from  torpidness  to  slumber.  Even  in 
the  room  where  they  were  dancing,  figures  sprawled 
upon  the  floor. 

It  was  a  wavering  picture.  Lanterns  flared  un 
certainly  from  the  rafters,  and  candles  tottered  in 
the  crannies  of  the  logs.  The  broken  shadows  of 
the  dancers  leaped  upon  the  shaking  walls. 

Again  Louis  Detiere  was  chief.  He  danced  in 
cessantly,  and  his  activity  seemed  an  effect  of  me 
chanism.  When  one  partner  dropped  exhausted, 
he  seized  another.  The  men  gave  way  before  him 
with  scowls ;  their  befogged  brains  did  not  have 
wit  enough  to  turn  their  resentment  to  action.  He 
drank,  as  did  the  others,  but  what  would  have 
made  a  weaker  brain  sluggish  served  but  to  stimu 
late  him  afresh.  He  was  license  incarnate  —  the 
embodied  spirit  of  animal  exuberance  unhampered 
by  a  hint  of  mind. 

The  revelry  was  at  its  height  when  a  high 
treble  call  palsied  the  roisterers.  Paul  Living 
stone  was  standing  in  the  centre  of  the  room,  and 
though  his  face  was  white  and  his  figure  shaking, 
his  voice  was  clear  and  firm. 

"  Repent !  "  he  cried.  "  Repent !  Daughters  of 
Jezebel,  sons  of  Belial,  I  call  upon  you  in  the 
name  of  the  Most  High  God." 


THE  KERMESS  133 

For  a  moment  the  shock  held  the  company.  No 
one  had  seen  Livingstone  enter,  —  even  Mr.  Proc 
tor,  at  the  window,  had  not  noticed  his  soft-footed 
approach,  —  and  the  supernatural  in  his  appearance 
gave  him  a  short  respite.  Then  a  murmur  rose, 
like  the  protest  of  a  bees'  swarm.  Jezebel  was  as 
good  a  name  as  any  other,  but  they  objected  to 
intrusions.  A  line  of  old  army  muskets  leaned 
against  the  wall,  and  one  of  the  men  walked  to 
ward  them.  There  were  threatening  fists  and  a 
muttering  of  Belgian  oaths,  but  Livingstone's  voice 
persisted. 

"  Hell  lies  naked  before  you  !  Repent  ye,  while 
there  is  yet  time  !  Ye  are  now  cursed  before  God, 
but  He  will  forgive  even  unto  the  uttermost.  Turn, 
children  of  Sodom,  for  the  Master  calls  ! " 

"  Hold  on !  "  called  Louis  Detiere.  He  had 
been  standing  rigid,  his  eyes  narrowing ;  now  his 
figure  relaxed,  and  he  took  the  centre  of  the  floor. 
"  Hold  on  !  "  There  was  something  like  amusement 
in  his  face  as  he  studied  Livingstone.  "  I  don't 
understand  your  lingo,  and  I  don't  know  what 
you  're  here  for,  or  who  asked  you  to  come,"  —  he 
stopped  to  call  down  upon  the  intruder  a  flood  of 
descriptive  oaths,  —  "  but  you  said  something  about 
masters.  Now  I  've  one  word.  You  ain't  the  one 
to  talk  to  me  about  masters.  Who  kept  the  mill 
running  all  week  and  did  fair  square  days'  works 
for  the  man  that  paid  him  wages  ?  That 's  the 
master  I  know  about  —  the  one  I  work  for  —  and 
I  ain't  too  drunk  yet  to  know  the  dirty  work 
you  're  doing  him.  I  know  your  meetings  where 


134  THE  LEGATEE 

you  put  blankets  to  the  windows  because  you  're 
afraid  you  '11  be  shot  —  you  talk  a  lot  about  shoot 
ing.  I  know  your  paper  on  the  tree  —  boy's  play 
because  you  don't  dare  use  a  knife  in  the  open 
—  and  I  know  your  white-livered  doctor."  He 
stopped  to  spit  in  the  face  of  the  man  before  him, 
and  an  interlude  of  profanity  stayed  his  accusa 
tions.  "  You  ain't  worth  killing,  else  I  'd  do  it 
now.  Besides,  I  want  you.  Tell  Cole  from  me 
that  I  may  be  a  drunken  Belgian,  but  there  ain't 
any  under-handed  crookedness  in  my  crew.  That 's 
more  than  he  can  say.  Tell  him  so." 

Mr.  Livingstone  had  listened  patiently  with  un 
seeing  gaze.  Now  he  raised  his  eyes. 

"  Peace,  child  of  wrath,"  he  said.  "  I  hear  you 
not.  I  "  — 

A  blow  across  the  mouth  stopped  him,  and  De- 
tiere  pushed  a  swelling  face  nearer. 

"Will  you  tell  Cole  what  I  told  you?"  he 
roared. 

The  man  in  Livingstone  vanquished  the  mystic. 
"  No !  "  he  shouted  in  turn.  "  I  carry  no  mes 
sages  for  liars." 

The  force  of  his  tone  gave  him  sudden  ascend 
ency,  and  reason  snapped  in  Detiere's  brain.  His 
look  spoke  murder,  and  Mr.  Proctor  jumped 
through  the  window  at  the  sight.  He  was  not  too 
soon.  Detiere  had  seized  a  musket,  and  grasping 
it  by  the  stock,  was  swinging  it  around  his  head. 
Livingstone  looked  up.  He  withered  in  the  second 
needed  for  the  bludgeon  to  descend,  and  no  one 
called  him  coward. 


THE  KERMESS  135 

But  the  musket  did  not  reach  Livingstone. 
Proctor's  scrambling  rush  was  made  in  time  for 
him  to  catch  the  weapon  in  its  downward  sweep, 
and  his  arm,  though  beaten  backward  by  the  im 
petus,  held  the  musket  firm.  The  sodden  com 
pany  drew  back.  If  the  first  appearance  had  been 
disturbing,  this  was  in  the  nature  of  a  miracle,  and 
they  breathed  hard  as  they  crossed  themselves. 

Detiere  alone  showed  no  surprise.  His  teeth 
gleamed  under  tight-pulled  lips,  but  he  made  no 
sound,  and  grasping  the  gun  barrel  with  both 
hands,  he  tried  to  wrench  it  from  the  man  before 
him.  There  was  a  moment's  tableau.  The  men 
were  of  a  height,  and  they  wrestled  eye  to  eye. 
Light  hair  to  dark  brow,  they  stood  in  contrast ;  it 
seemed  the  eternal  conflict  of  sun  and  shadow,  and 
the  dullest  were  stirred.  But  it  was  an  unequal 
contest.  Proctor's  right  arm  was  numbed  by  the 
blow  of  the  musket,  and  it  soon  swung  helpless  at 
his  side. 

"  Run,  Livingstone !  "  he  called  over  his  shoulder. 
"  I  can't  hold  out  much  longer  !  Run,  man  —  I  'in 
all  right !  " 

The  scowl  on  Detiere's  mercurial  face  shifted, 
like  shadows  on  a  pool.  With  a  burst  of  noisy 
laughter  he  dropped  the  musket. 

"  Run  !  Run  !  He  run  five  minutes  ago.  You 
are  strong,  Mr.  Proctor."  He  beamed  admiration 
from  a  face  that  held  no  memory  of  the  anger  of 
the  moment  before.  "  I  'm  sorry  that  I  hurt  your 
arm." 

Proctor  walked  to  the  wall  and  replaced  the 


136  THE  LEGATEE 

musket  without  speaking.  His  arm  was  painful, 
but  that  Livingstone  had  deserted  was  more  so. 
It  made  the  whole  scene  unnecessary,  belittling. 

"  You  would  n't  enjoy  prison,  Detiere,"  he  said 
with  brevity  of  accent.  "  You  'd  find  it  confining. 
But  mend  your  ways,  if  you  mean  to  keep  out  of 
it.  I  can't  be  around  to  save  you  every  time." 

"So?"  The  Belgian*  smiled  with  undisturbed 
good  humor.  "  You  are  a  strong  man.  Sacristi !  " 
He  examined  Proctor's  muscles  with  an  eye  that 
paid  tribute  to  their  power.  "  I  work  the  men  all 
this  week,  Mr.  Proctor.  Cole  said  I  could  n't." 

"  Yes,  you  did  well  this  week,  Detiere.  Now  do 
better  and  stop  this  orgy."  Mr.  Proctor  swept 
the  room  with  a  glance  of  contempt  that  was  lost 
on  the  crowd  before  him.  "  Do  it  because  I  ask 
it.  You  should  be  grateful  to  me  to-night.  Send 
these  people  home." 

"  Oui,"  Detiere  blithely  assented.  He  spoke  a 
few  sharp  words,  and  the  women  turned  away. 
The  men  —  such  of  them  as  were  not  beyond  hear 
ing  —  shrugged  their  shoulders,  but  they  slouched 
toward  the  door.  "  They  go,"  their  leader  an 
nounced  to  Mr.  Proctor.  "  Next  time  "  —  his  tone 
was  insinuatingly  gentle  —  "  maybe  you  come  ear 
lier." 

Proctor  walked  away  to  hide  his  unwilling  smile. 
"  Next  time,"  he  called  back,  "  I  will  come  earlier, 
and  I  '11  bring  the  sheriff." 

A  few  rods  from  the  door  he  met  Livingstone. 
"  Stop,  Livingstone  !  "  he  called.  "  Don't  go  back 
there." 


THE  KERMESS  137 

The  schoolmaster  wheeled.     "  You  're  hurt  ?  " 

"  I  ?  No.  But  why  are  you  going  back  ?  You 
left  once." 

"  I  left  to  go  for  help.  I  was  coming  back  to 
aid  you." 

"Where  did  you  go  for  help?"  Proctor  per 
sisted.  Had  the  schoolmaster's  pride  overcome 
his  cowardice  ?  Why  this  return  ? 

Livingstone  looked  troubled,  but  did  not  finesse. 
"  I  went  for  Dr.  Griggs.  He  's  out  there,  but  he 
would  not  —  He  did  not  think  it  best  to  return." 

"  I  understand,"  said  Mr.  Proctor  with  sudden 
cordiality.  "  Won't  you  drive  home  with  me  ?  I 
came  alone." 

"  I  'm  with  Dr.  Griggs,"  Livingstone  reluctantly 
replied.  He  followed  to  the  road  and  watched 
Mr.  Proctor  untie  the  horse.  "  I  suppose  that  I 
—  that  I  owe  my  life  to  you.  I  'm  very  much 
obliged." 

Mr.  Proctor  picked  up  the  reins.  "  That 's  all 
right,  Livingstone.  Don't  think  of  it  again.  I  'm 
glad,  though,  that  I  happened  to  be  playing  Peep 
ing  Tom.  Good-night." 

"  Good-night.  But  —  Mr.  Proctor !  Mr.  Proc 
tor  !  Just  one  moment !  " 

"Well?"  Mr.  Proctor  leaned  from  the  car 
riage,  and  the  moonlight  showed  him  the  school 
master's  face  distorted  with  resolve. 

"  Mr.  Proctor,  I  cannot  let  my  gratitude  to  you 
interfere  with  my  duty.  I  cannot.  I  warn  you  of 
that.  I  cannot  do  it." 

"  By  no  means,"  said  Mr.  Proctor.     The  friend- 


138  THE  LEGATEE 

liness  of  his  tone  was  accented  by  the  sight  of  a 
portly  figure  crouching  by  a  roadside  bush.  "  Do 
your  duty  wherever  you  see  it.  May  I  suggest 
that  at  this  moment  duty  lies  in  the  rescuing  of 
your  friend  Dr.  Griggs?  He  is  under  the  bush 
there,  and  he  appears  to  be  in  pain." 

Mr.  Proctor's  arm  seemed  less  painful  as  he 
drove  away.  To  have  proved  Dr.  Griggs  a  coward 
was  a  gain  as  well  as  a  pleasure.  It  removed  what 
he  had  thought  of  as  a  factor  in  his  plans. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

AN   AWAKENING 

ME.  PROCTOR'S  wrenched  arm  wrought  the  un 
expected.  The  village  was  impressed.  The  story 
of  his  encounter  with  Detiere  spread  and  lost  no 
picturesqueness  in  the  telling.  He  found  himself 
in  an  Indian  summer  of  esteem. 

"  I  've  learned  the  road  to  popularity,"  he  said 
to  Dr.  Edmister,  who  was  caring  for  his  arm.  "  I 
expected  to  begin  next  summer  with  drastic  mea 
sures,  but  now  I  '11  knock  a  man  down  once  a  month 
and  let  the  labor  agitators  do  their  worst." 

The  doctor  did  not  smile.  "  I  'm  glad  that  it 
happened,"  he  said  with  some  gravity.  "  The 
people  have  underestimated  your  strength.  I  wel 
come  every  accident  that  shows  them  the  real 
man." 

Mr.  Proctor  was  going  down  the  trail  when  he 
met  Katherine.  He  was  aglow  from  his  talk  with 
her  father,  and  his  retrospective  smile  momentarily 
included  her.  Their  greetings  were  wont  to  be 
perfunctory. 

The  girl  met  his  smile  with  a  rill  of  song  and 
eyes  that  strove  vainly  for  sobriety.  He  placed 
himself  in  her  way. 

"  I  'm  almost  tone  deaf,"  he  said  severely,  "  and 


140  THE  LEGATEE 

I  don't  wish  to  be  suspicious,  but  isn't  that  4  Lo ! 
the  Conquering  Hero  ? '"  — 

Katherine  sat  down  on  a  log  and  stopped  to 
laugh.  "But  I  liked  it."  Her  look  hailed  him 
as  a  comrade.  "  I  'm  so  glad  that  you  did  it !  " 

This  was  a  new  Katherine,  and  Mr.  Proctor  took 
the  other  end  of  the  log.  "  Et  tu  !  "  he  groaned. 
"  "Well,  there 's  no  escape  if  destiny  calls,  but  a 
pugilist's  life  never  attracted  me." 

Katherine  sat  up  straight.  "Oh,  I  didn't 
mean  the  catching  of  the  gun  —  though  that  was 
all  right  too.  I  meant  that  I  was  glad  of  the  other 
thing  —  that  the  man  was  afraid  of  you.  He  was 
afraid  of  your  self-control.  He  couldn't  under 
stand  your  taking  a  blow  meant  for  another  man. 
He  would  never  be  afraid  of  mere  strength." 

"  Energy  is  substance  with  Detiere,"  said  the 
man  somewhat  absently.  He  neglected  the  per 
sonal  application  of  the  girl's  speech  in  wonder  at 
her  vivid  face. 

"  I  'm  afraid  that  I  'm  like  him.  I  understand 
his  worship  of  force."  The  girl  curled  her  palms 
together  gleefully  and  looked  up  with  a  frank  de 
mand  upon  his  discernment. 

It  was  difficult  to  respond.  A  new  and  wholly 
unexpected  impulse  of  admiration  was  crowding 
Mr.  Proctor's  tongue  to  flattery.  Yet  he  must  not 
repel  her  advances.  Why  had  she  never  shown 
him  this  side  of  herself  before  ? 

Katherine  rose.  "  Mr.  Livingstone  should  be 
very  grateful  to  you,"  she  said  formally.  The 
glow  with  which  she  had  welcomed  the  conquering 
hero  had  faded. 


AN  AWAKENING  141 

Mr.  Proctor  rose  too,  with  a  laugh  for  his  own 
egotism.  He  had  been  obtuse.  Of  course  Kath- 
erine  would  show  him  new  friendliness  ;  he  had 
saved  Livingstone. 

He  was  not  smiling  as  he  walked  down  the  trail. 
The  girl's  attitude  might  be  admirably  consistent, 
but  he  was  annoyed.  He  paid  somewhat  dearly 
for  his  friendship  with  Dr.Edmister  in  these  prickly 
encounters  with  the  daughter.  Yet  why  try  to 
find  excuse  for  her  phases  ?  He  was  exaggerating, 
losing  his  perspective.  A  few  weeks  more  and  he 
would  be  in  the  world  again,  and  this  life  of  petty 
irritations  and  childish  mysteries  would  seem  as 
immaterial  as  a  dream. 

He  was  dreaming  of  that  world  some  mornings 
later  when  he  was  wakened  by  a  splatter  of  pebbles 
against  his  window.  He  looked  out  into  a  chill 
dawn. 

"Who  is  it?  "he  called. 

A  cough  answered  him,  and  Livingstone  stepped 
from  the  shadow  of  the  house. 

Proctor  stayed  his  exclamation.  "What  is 
it?" 

Livingstone  motioned  to  silence.  "  Come,"  said 
his  gesture. 

Mr.  Proctor  dressed  with  some  amusement. 
How  characteristic  of  Livingstone  !  Pebbles  and 
secrecy  consorted  well  with  the  man. 

He  met  the  schoolmaster  at  the  gate  and  fol 
lowed  him  in  silence.  Livingstone  led  him  past 
the  mill  to  a  distant  corner  of  the  yards,  then 
stopped  and  looked  about  him.  No  one  was  in 


142  THE  LEGATEE 

sight.  He  drew  Mr.  Proctor  to  his  side  and 
pointed  to  a  pile  of  lumber. 

For  a  moment  the  schoolmaster's  air  of  tragedy 
was  justified  in  the  mill  owner's  eyes.  A  cone  of 
sticks  lay  at  the  edge  of  the  lumber,  and  the  boards 
above  showed  stains  of  oil. 

Proctor  bent  to  the  pile.  It  was  nicely  placed. 
The  prevailing  winds  would  carry  the  sparks  to 
ward  the  mill.  He  rose  and  held  out  his  hand. 

"  You  have  done  me  a  great  kindness,  Living 
stone.  I  am  the  more  reproached  that  I  once  mis 
judged  you."  His  voice  was  alight  with  gratitude. 

Livingstone's  gravity  took  a  deeper  tone.  "  It 
was  contrary  to  my  advice  —  distinctly  con 
trary." 

Mr.  Proctor  reconstructed  his  point  of  view. 
"  I  am  greatly  in  your  debt,"  he  said  with  some 
restraint. 

"  No.  That  is  what  I  wish  to  speak  of.  You 
are  not  in  my  debt,  nor  I,  I  hope,  in  yours.  You 
saved  my  life  the  other  evening  —  I  suppose,"  — 
Livingstone's  voice  stumbled  at  the  admission,  — 
"  and  now  I  have  saved  your  mill.  Are  we,  per 
haps  —  do  we  seem  to  you  to  be  quits  ?  " 

Proctor  stared.  Was  Livingstone  developing 
as  a  humorist  ?  No,  the  growing  light  showed  the 
schoolmaster's  face  unflinchingly  composed.  Mr. 
Proctor's  glance  dropped  to  the  cone  of  sticks. 
That,  at  least,  was  not  travesty. 

"  An  eye  for  an  eye  ?  "  he  queried.  "  Certainly, 
we  are  quits.  Since  this  is  a  business  matter  —  an 
exchange  —  I  call  the  balance  in  your  favor." 


AN  AWAKENING  143 

Livingstone  bowed.  "  It  is  not  a  case  for  incli 
nation,"  he  said.  "  The  Bible  reads  plainly.  I 
cannot  be  beholden  to  one  whose  works  are  un 
righteousness." 

Mr.  Proctor  spent  the  morning  in  his  office 
thinking.  He  had  a  business  crisis  to  meet,  but 
his  mind  had  room  for  Katherine  Edmister  and 
Livingstone.  What  troubles  might  this  fiery  child 
not  bring  upon  herself  if  she  persisted  in  her  de 
fense  of  the  schoolmaster  ?  It  was  as  if  in  answer 
to  his  thought  that,  about  ten  o'clock,  Katherine 
knocked  at  his  door. 

He  placed  a  chair  for  her  with  an  air  that  tried 
to  be  usual  and  failed.  Her  embarrassment  did 
not  bode  well  for  the  interview.  What  new  com 
plication  was  he  to  meet  ? 

"  Father  was  n't  at  home,"  she  explained  hur 
riedly,  "  and  1  could  n't  wait  for  him.  I  had  to 
come.  I  've  seen  Mr.  Livingstone.  He  told  me  — 
about  the  lumber." 

The  man's  face  changed.  It  had  not  occurred 
to  him  that  Livingstone  would  spread  the  tale. 

Katherine  read  his  silence  rightly.  "  You  don't 
like  his  having  told  me.  But  I  don't  think  that  he 
will  tell  any  one  else.  Of  course  he  would  tell  me." 

Mr.  Proctor  tapped  the  table.  All  women  had 
their  crudities  he  thought.  They  seemed  denied 
the  reticence  that  instinct  gave  to  men. 

"  Don't  you  go  to  school  ?  "  he  asked  absently. 

Katherine's  brows  lifted.  "  No.  Father  de 
cided  about  a  week  ago  that  knowledge  was  not 
seemly  for  a  woman.  I  'm  a  little  sorry  about  the 


144  THE  LEGATEE 

geometry.  However,  that  is  n't  what  I  came  to 
say." 

Mr.  Proctor  leaned  back.  She  had  come  to 
make  another  plea  for  Livingstone  —  but  for  what  ? 
He  did  not  feel  interested  to  hear. 

"  Never  mind  what  you  canie  to  say.  Don't  you 
think  we  're  all  tired  of  reasons  ?  Everything  in 
Wilsonport  is  done  with  a  purpose.  Suppose  that 
you  forget  you  had  a  moral." 

To  his  surprise  she  showed  him  a  flitting  smile. 

"  You  're  trying  to  save  me  from  what  you  're 
afraid  I  'm  going  to  do,"  she  said,  sobering. 
"  But  I  'm  not  going  to  meddle  again.  It 's  be 
cause  I  meddled  before  that  I  'm  here  now.  I 
did  n't  dream  of  the  mischief  I  was  doing  when 
I  did  n't  tell  you  about  the  other  fire.  I  thought 
it  would  never  happen  again,  and  you  are  so  hard 
on  the  men  —  on  the  people  —  that  I  could  n't 
bear  —  But  I  've  tried  to  keep  watch  of  your 
lumber.  Mr.  Heinrich  has  helped.  And  Mr. 
Livingstone  promised  to  tell  me  if  another  attempt 
was  made,  so  he  came  to  me  to-day.  Then  I  knew 
that  the  trouble  was  serious,  and  that  I  ought  to 
tell  you  what  I  'd  found  out."  She  stopped, 
breathless.  Her  eyes  were  clouded. 

The  young  man's  eyes  were  lowered,  but  he 
missed  no  detail  of  her  face.  "  So  hard  on  the 
men?  Miss  Katherine,  will  you  be  good  enough 
to  explain  ?  "  He  did  not  conceal  his  disapproval. 
Her  shielding  of  Livingstone  he  could  forgive,  but 
this  belated  attempt  to  hide  behind  another  motive 
roused  his  contempt. 


AN  AWAKENING  145 

Katherine's  lip  escaped  from  her  control,  and 
quivered.  His  censure,  to  her  mind,  was  a  phase 
of  his  anger  against  the  men. 

"  Yes,  you  are  stern  in  your  judgment  of  the 
people."  She  had  not  meant  to  say  this,  but  his 
face  opened  the  flood-gates,  and  the  words  escaped. 

"  You  're  not  so  much  stern,  perhaps,  as  con 
temptuous,  indifferent.  That 's  much  worse.  You 
don't  care  what  happens  to  the  men  so  long  as 
your —  Of  course  the  men  have  been  wrong, 
wicked,  but  —  but  "  —  She  drew  herself  up  and 
looked  toward  the  door.  "  I  must  go.  I  did  n't 
mean  to  say  this.  I  'm  sorry  about  the  lumber." 

The  man  rose.  His  unconscious  action  barred 
her  way.  "  What  do  you  know  of  my  dealings 
with  my  men,  Miss  Katherine?  Your  inform 
ant"— 

"  Oh,  but  I  have  n't  had  an  informant !  It 's 
yourself.  Can't  you  see  ?  You  hold  yourself  so 
ramote,  so  outside  it  all !  I  —  That 's  why  I 
made  that  —  why  I  did  n't  tell  you  about  the  other 
attempt.  I  went  to  the  church  to  tell  you,  but  I 
saw  you  smile  "  — 

"  Don't  stop ! "  The  young  man  picked  up  a 
book,  and  dropped  it.  "  You  came  to  warn  me, 
and  I  ?  —  Don't  go.  Please.  Take  this  chair. 
When  did  I  smile?" 

"  I  went  to  the  church  and  looked  through  the 
window,  and  you  smiled  —  You  did  n't  mean  it 
as  disdainful,  perhaps,  but  —  you  've  always  smiled 
that  way  since  the  first  day,  and  it  shows  that  you 
don't  care  for  the  people.  I  know  that  you  're 


146  THE  LEGATEE 

just,  and  the  men  are  wrong,  very  wrong,  but  they 
work  so  hard,  and  they  're  so  poor !  " 

"  And  I  seem  as  hard  to  you  as  that.  So  hard 
that  you  did  n't  dare  trust  me.  And  I  thought  "  — 

"  But  you  're  not  so  hard,"  she  cried,  with  a 
rush  of  penitence.  "  It 's  only  that  you  don't 
understand.  If  you  only  did  think  of  it  differ 
ently,  you  could  do  so  much  —  just  as  you  did  at 
the  kermess.  I  was  very  wrong.  But  I  hoped 
too  much  from  Mr.  Livingstone." 

"  Don't  stop.  Please  tell  me  more.  I  can't 
tell  you  how  much  I  've  been  mistaken  in  some 
things.  Please  sit  down  and  tell  me  what  hap 
pened  that  night." 

His  eyes  were  searching  hers.  Her  eager  face 
was  tear-wet,  but  he  waked  to  the  thought  that 
the  day  was  fair. 

She  told  the  story  with  stormy  reiteration  of 
phrase.  Her  interference  —  now  that  she  was 
forced  to  put  it  into  words  —  seemed  an  incredible 
impertinence,  but  she  did  not  try  to  soften  it. 

Men,  piling  lumber  in  the  yards,  slouched  by 
the  window  as  she  talked,  and  Mr.  Proctor  watched 
them.  They  looked  heavy  and  sullen,  and  their 
leather  aprons  were  crusted  with  dirt.  Yet  it  was 
for  them  that  this  girl  was  in  tears.  It  did  not 
once  come  to  him  that  the  situation  held  a  touch 
of  the  absurd. 

"  I  've  had  my  lesson,"  she  concluded.  "  I  've 
had  to  think  things  out.  It  was  man's  work  that 
I  tried  to  do,  and  I  am  a  child.  It  was  good  of 
you  not  to  tell  me  that  the  other  night.  It  was  so 


AN  AWAKENING  147 

true  that  I  could  n't  bear  to  hear  it.  But  now  I  '11 
have  to  tell  you  what  I  've  found  out.  That 's  the 
hardest." 

"  I  Ve  had  —  I  'm  having  —  my  lesson,  too,  Miss 
Katherine.  As  to  what  you  've  found  out,  don't 
tell  me  unless  you  wish." 

"  I  must  wish.  It  may  be  important.  I  over 
heard  —  I  saw  "  — 

"  You  found  some  one  in  mischief.  Perhaps  I 
can  help.  Was  it  Yngve  Torstenson?  Don't 
answer.  Yes,  I  've  been  watching  Yngve.  Don't 
add  that  to  your  conscience." 

The  girl's  face  relaxed ;  she  looked  tired.  "  I 
must  go,"  she  said,  with  sudden  timidity.  "You 
won't  think  that  I  meant  too  much  about  Yngve  ?  " 

Mr.  Proctor  laid  a  hand  upon  her  chair. 
"  Wait,  it 's  my  turn.  Will  you  listen,  Miss 
Katherine  ?  I  close  the  mill  to-morrow." 

"You  close  the  mill?" 

"  I  must  reach  the  men  in  some  way.  If  they 
try  to  burn  my  mill,  I  close  it.  That  logic  should 
impress  their  minds." 

"  But  your  loss  !     Oh,  did  I  do  this !  " 

The  man's  half  laugh  seemed  fragmentary  and 
illogical.  His  glance,  which  had  rested  on  her 
face,  wavered.  "  Miss  Katherine,  do  you  know 
that  you  have  never  before  sided  with  the  task 
master  ?  But  I  can't  take  your  sympathy  under 
false  pretenses.  No,  I  will  lose  nothing.  I  am 
nearly  out  of  logs.  I  could  bring  another  raft 
from  Douglas  Harbor,  but  that  is  dangerous  work 
at  this  season.  I  have  lumber  on  hand  for  the 


148  THE  LEGATEE 

spring  trade,  and  my  mill  is  insured.  Do  you 
see?" 

Katherine  had  followed  his  reasoning  with  at 
tentive  nods,  and  he  went  on.  "  My  point  of  view 
is  still  selfish,  you  see.  I  tell  you,  not  that  I  am 
proud  of  it,  but  that  I  may  meet  you  with  honesty. 
I  am  simply  following  the  path  of  least  resistance. 
However,  the  men  will  lose  little.  The  work  in 
the  woods  begins  very  soon." 

The  girl's  eyes  were  troubled.  "  It  is  good  of 
you  to  trust  me  this  way,  after  I  have  given  you 
so  much  annoyance." 

The  man  was  silent  a  moment.  "  You  have 
given  me  many  things  this  morning  —  but  not 
annoyance.  You  say  that  I  've  been  hard.  Grant 
that  I  have,  there 's  another  summer  coming." 
He  dwelt  on  the  words,  and  smiled.  "  Have  you 
room  for  faith  in  me  until  that  time  ?  " 

She  searched  his  face  for  amusement,  but  found 
none.  "  Faith  ?  "  she  said.  "  Have  you  charity  ? 
It  is  the  greater.  I  am  afraid  that  I  need  it  at 
your  hands." 


CHAPTER  XV 

"  NEED   A   BODY   CRY  ?  " 

MR.  PROCTOR'S  morning  had  been  idle,  but  his 
afternoon  did  penance  for  the  crime. 

At  five  o'clock  Cole  called  the  men  together,  and 
dismissed  them  for  the  season.  He  had  been  well 
drilled  in  his  interview  with  Mr.  Proctor,  and  his 
words  were  few.  An  attempt  —  the  second  —  had 
been  made  to  burn  the  mill ;  therefore  it  would  be 
closed.  Work  would  probably  be  resumed  in  the 
spring.  He  did  not  know.  He  went  away  at 
once,  to  leave  no  opportunity  for  argument. 

The  men,  too,  said  little.  Questions  would  con 
fess  ignorance,  and  each  suspected  his  mate  of 
greater  knowledge.  From  the  standpoint  of  ex 
citement  the  closing  of  the  mill  made  scant  im 
pression  on  the  village. 

It  was  mid-afternoon  of  the  next  day  when  Dr. 
Edmister,  driving  through  the  tamarack  swamp, 
found  Mr.  Proctor  by  the  roadside. 

"  Partridges  ?  "  The  doctor  looked  expectantly 
at  the  young  man's  gun.  "  I  've  heard  the  rascals 
drumming." 

Mr.  Proctor  showed  an  empty  game  bag.  "  I  've 
been  estimating  the  timber.  Yes,  I  '11  be  glad  to 
drive  back  with  you." 


150  THE  LEGATEE 

The  doctor  watched  him  leap  to  the  seat.  The 
young  man's  eyes  were  shining,  and  never  had  his 
sinewy  length  of  limb  seemed  more  pronounced. 

"  Why  a  gun,  Proctor  ?  For  decorative  pur 
poses  ?  " 

Mr.  Proctor  stretched  himself.  "Yes,  it's  a 
stage  property.  I  wished  the  village  to  believe  I 
went  a-hunting.  It 's  as  well  for  the  people  not  to 
have  too  accurate  data  of  my  movements.  You  've 
heard  about  the  mill  ?  " 

"  Naturally." 

"  It 's,  as  I  told  Miss  Katherine,  a  gallery  play. 
It  sends  me  home  earlier  and  gives  me  a  dramatic 
exit.  I  told  Miss  Katherine  "  — 

"  She  told  me.     What  does  Cole  say  ?  " 

"  Cole  's  obedient.  I  tried  to  show  him  that  his 
leader  is  a  man  of  straw." 

"  His  leader  ?  " 

"  Oh,  Dr.  Griggs  is  the  spring  that  moves  Liv 
ingstone,  I  think,  and  even  Cole 's  infected. 
That 's  what  the  winter  will  do  for  me.  Prove 
my  suspicions,  and  show  whether  this  unrest  is 
serious.  Dr.  Griggs  can't  follow  the  men  into  the 
camps." 

"  You  '11  be  away  till  spring  ?  I  shall  miss  you." 
The  doctor's  tone,  which  had  worn  an  edge  of  re 
straint,  grew  more  genial. 

"  I  'm  coming  back  in  January  for  a  week  or 
more." 

The  doctor  turned.  "In  January?  That's 
new,  is  n't  it  ?  I  '11  be  glad  to  see  you,  Proctor,  — 
you  've  no  idea  how  long  the  winter  will  be,  —  but 


"NEED   A  BODY   CRY?"  151 

you  can't  accomplish  anything  at  that  time,  can 
you?" 

The  young  man  drew  a  long  breath.  "  I  can 
accomplish  my  pleasure.  I  've  never  seen  Wil- 
sonport  in  winter  dress.  Then,  I  ought  to  go  out 
to  my  camps." 

The  doctor  shook  his  head.  "  Too  many  miles 
for  a  whim.  You  won't  come.  But  I  should  wel 
come  you." 

"  I  '11  get  out  here,"  Mr.  Proctor  said,  as  they 
neared  the  village.  "  I  've  an  errand  in  Torsten- 
son's  wood  yard."  He  jumped  to  the  ground, 
but  stopped,  his  hand  upon  the  seat.  "  There  's 
one  thing,  doctor.  I  mentioned  something  to  you 
the  other  night  which  I  have  since  regretted.  I 
see  now  that  I  was  wrong.  It  was  a  foolish  sur 
mise,  and  it  has  not  been  my  habit  to  discuss  "  — 
He  stopped,  frowning  at  his  own  circumlocutions. 

The  doctor  examined  his  whip  to  preserve  his 
gravity.  He  had  never  before  seen  Mr.  Proctor 
embarrassed,  and  he  had  a  passing  thought  that 
the  emotion  sat  upon  the  young  man  well. 
"  About  Katherine  and  Mr.  Livingstone?  "  he  as 
sisted.  "  You  see  that  you  were  wrong?  I  thought 
so.  I  know  my  daughter  —  no,  I  'm  not  sure  that 
that  statement 's  correct.  I  think,  however,  that 
I  can  claim  some  knowledge  of  her  standards.  I 
did  n't  consider  that  Livingstone  matter  seriously." 

"  But  you  took  her  out  of  school." 

"  I  told  you  that  so  long  as  she  was  there  I 
must  defend  the  teacher.  Then,  too,  I  may  send 
her  away." 


152  THE   LEGATEE 

"  But  not  before  Christmas !  Will  you  write 
me  this  winter,  doctor  ?  " 

"  Yes,  with  pleasure  —  but  you  don't  leave  for 
some  days  yet,  do  you  ?  " 

Mr.  Proctor  smiled  at  the  doctor's  perplexity ; 
he  understood  his  own  irrelevance  well.  "  On  the 
next  Buffalo  boat,"  he  said,  as  he  turned  away. 
"  I  '11  be  up  before  I  go." 

He  leaped  the  fence  of  the  Torstenson  wood 
yard.  Yngve  was  there,  as  he  had  expected,  and 
turned  an  equally  expected  scowl. 

The  man  stopped.  "I  want  a  business  talk, 
Yngve,  and  now  's  a  good  time.  You  've  seemed 
somewhat  interested  in  my  affairs.  I  've  further 
information  for  you.  My  mill  is  heavily  insured 
—  heavily.  The  bulk  of  my  timber  is  near  Doug 
las  Bay,  and  it  is  an  expense  and  a  trouble  to  raft 
it  from  there.  It  would  be  to  my  present  advan 
tage  if  my  uncle  had  chosen  Douglas  Bay  for  a 
mill  site.  These  are  facts  for  your  leisure.  You 
might  repeat  them  to  the  Knights  of  Temperance 
Labor  Union." 

Yngve,  for  once,  did  not  look  angry.  "  Do  you 
think  that  I  was  the  one  who  tried  to  burn  your 
mill  ?  "  His  voice  shook. 

Mr.  Proctor  lifted  his  eyebrows.  "I  don't 
think  any  more.  I  jump  to  conclusions.  It 's  a 
Wilsonport  habit,  and  I  've  acquired  it." 

The  next  few  days  saw  the  lumber  stacked  for 
the  winter  and  the  plans  for  the  camps  arranged. 
The  arrival  of  the  Buffalo  steamer  found  Mr. 
Proctor  with  only  the  good-bys  waiting  to  be  said. 


"NEED  A  BODY  CRY?"  153 

It  was  a  dreary  day.  Winter  was  threatening, 
and  the  air  promised  snow.  Drab  clouds  wrapped 
lake  and  forest.  Everywhere  was  discomfort,  yet 
Mr.  Proctor,  walking  with  difficulty  on  the  ridges 
of  frozen  ground,  showed  no  pleasure  in  the 
thought  of  his  release.  It  was  Olive  Cole  who 
discovered  the  thoughtful  regret  in  his  good-by. 

"  You  're  sorry  to  go  away,"  she  cried  trium 
phantly.  "  I  expect  we  '11  have  to  go  to  Karen  to 
find  out  when  you  're  coming  back." 

The  remark  sent  him  to  Karen  with  some  dis 
comfort.  It  occurred  to  him  now  that  he  had  not 
been  there  in  some  time.  His  neglect  had  not  been 
intentional,  but  the  thought  of  it  bred  constraint. 

There  was  answering  constraint  in  Karen's  man 
ner.  Mr.  Livingstone  was  with  her,  and  the  at 
mosphere  hastened  Mr.  Proctor's  adieus. 

"  I  'm  —  I  'in  going  to  join  the  church,  Mr. 
Proctor,"  Karen  stammered,  as  she  said  good-by. 

Livingstone  stepped  before  her.  "Karen  has 
said  good-by  to  the  world  at  last,"  he  said.  This 
other  good-by  was  evidently  symbolic  to  his  mind. 

Mr.  Proctor  went  from  there  to  the  house  on 
the  bluff.  He  ran  the  last  part  of  the  way.  It 
came  to  him  sharply  that  it  would  be  a  long  time 
before  he  could  again  climb  that  trail. 

Katherine  was  in  the  yard,  taking  a  washing 
from  the  line,  and  she  worked  to  the  accompani 
ment  of  a  recitative  query.  " '  Need  a  body 
cry  ? '  : '  she  fluted,  as  she  contended  with  the 
wind  for  possession  of  a  flapping  sheet.  The  sheet 
conquered,  her  mouth  was  needed  to  hold  clothes- 


154  THE  LEGATEE 

pins,  but  she  persevered,  withal  in  broken  tones, 
"  '  Gin  a  body  kiss  a  body,  need  a  body  cry  ? ' ' 
Mr.  Proctor  stopped  behind  her.  A  wrinkle,  that 
he  had  worn  all  day,  disappeared,  and  he  looked 
care  free  and  boyish.  The  question  seemed  per 
plexing,  and  the  girl  went  back  to  it.  "  '  Need  a 
body  cry  ?  '  "  she  repeated. 

"  You  tempt  me  to  allay  your  curiosity,"  Mr. 
Proctor  remarked  with  colloquial  ease.  u  Experi 
ence  would  prove." 

The  girl  turned  so  slowly  that  he  knew  her  to  be 
searching  for  a  retort. 

She  accepted  her  defeat.  "  My  repartee  is  as 
Scotch  as  my  song,"  she  laughed,  as  she  dropped 
her  burden  into  the  clothes  basket.  "  Won't  you 
come  in  ?  I  'm  sorry  that  you  're  going  away." 

"  No,  I  can't  come  in.  I  '11  see  your  father  at 
the  steamer,  and  it 's  time  for  it  now.  I  'm  glad  — 
if  you  're  sorry.  But  I  'm  coming  back  in  Janu 
ary.  Will  you  be  here  ?  " 

The  girl  sat  on  the  edge  of  the  clothes  basket, 
and  looked  at  him.  She  balanced  herself  craftily, 
her  chin  in  her  hands.  "  I  '11  always  be  here,  I 
think.  How  I  'd  like  not  to  be  —  just  for  a 
little  time  !  Have  you  any  idea  how  I  envy  you  ? 
Not  the  going  nor  the  coming,  perhaps,  but  the 
having  tried  both.  You  ought  to  be  very  happy. 
Think  of  your  opportunities." 

"I  do  think,"  the  man  solemnly  replied.  "  I  've 
thought  of  my  opportunities  steadily  for  nearly  a 
week.  The  trouble  is,  I  have  n't  used  them  as  I 
might.  That 's  why  I  'm  coming  back  in  January." 


"NEED  A  BODY  CRY?"  155 

Katherine's  cheeks  grew  hot.  "  For  nearly  a 
week  ?  It  was  nearly  a  week  ago  that  I  went  to 
your  office.  Mr.  Proctor,  have  I  —  have  I  any 
thing  to  do  with  your  coming  back  in  January  ?  " 

The  man  laughed  a  little.     "  Yes,"  he  said. 

The  girl  sat  erect  on  her  uncertain  seat,  and 
raised  a  troubled  face.  "  I  've  been  unhappy 
over  what  I  said  to  you  that  day,  Mr.  Proctor  — 
about  your  opportunities.  And  now  I  '11  be  still 
more  so  if  you  come  back  on  that  account.  For, 
after  all,  what  can  I  know  about  your  work  with 
the  men  ?  I  've  been  thinking  a  great  deal  lately, 
and  —  I  '11  never  meddle  again.  I  did  n't  mean 
the  men  when  I  spoke  just  now  of  your  opportuni 
ties.  I  was  thinking  how  wonderful  it  must  be  to 
know  the  world  as  you  do.  Mr.  Proctor,  please 
forget  what  I  said  that  day !  " 

Mr.  Proctor  came  close  to  the  edge  of  the 
clothes  basket.  "  Miss  Katherine,"  he  said  soberly, 
"  I  don't  want  to  forget  that  day  —  nor  your  share 
in  it.  And  if  what  you  said  determined  me  to 
come  again  in  January,  believe  me  that  I  come  — 
because  I  wish." 

Katherine  had  her  father's  eyes.  She  lifted  them 
now,  candid,  yet  questioning.  "  Then  I  'm  very 
happy  that  you  're  coming  back,"  she  said.  "  And  to 
think  that  in  two  days  you  '11  be  out  in  the  world  !  " 
She  stopped  to  laugh  at  herself,  and  her  chin 
cradled  itself  in  her  hands  once  more.  "  That 's 
what  I  never  can  realize.  We  seem  so  far  away  — 
so  outside  of  things  !  It  does  n't  seem  possible  that 
by  the  end  of  the  week  you  will  be  in  the  whirl." 


156  THE  LEGATEE 

The  man  looked  down  at  her.  She  was  hum- 
miijg  to  herself,  and  her  absent  eyes  showed  that 
her  mind  was  afield.  Her  thought  was  exploring 
that  outside  world  that  chained  her  fancy. 

"  The  whirl  is  n't  so  glittering,  after  all,"  he 
said.  "  You  're  going  to  be  a  disappointed,  Cinder 
ella,  when  you  reach  the  ball.  I  wonder  "  —  his 
even  tone  tripped  a  little  —  "  whether  you  would 
let  me  write  to  you  about  it  while  I  am  away  — 
tell  you  how  it  looks  to  me  now  that  I  've  been 
out  of  it  for  a  time." 

Katherine  stopped  humming.  "  Why  —  why  — 
It  would  be  very  kind  of  you,  Mr.  Proctor." 

Was  this  pleasure  ?  It  wore  the  air  of  embar 
rassment  and  surprise.  Mr.  Proctor  drew  a  long 
breath. 

"  But  I  'm  not  a  philanthropist,  Miss  Kather 
ine.  I  demand  my  wage.  If  I  write  to  you  I 
shall  expect  letters  in  return.  You  see  the  bald 
ness  of  my  ruse.  Will  you  write  to  me  ?  " 

"  But  I  've  never  written  letters  —  except,  of 
course,  to  Adrien,  and  duty  letters  to  aunts  I  've 
never  seen.  But  perhaps  to  you  —  and  I  would 
so  like  your  letters  "  —  she  looked  up  in  his  face, 
and  misread  its  sudden  intensity.  "  No !  "  she 
cried  with  swift  panic.  "  You  're  not  saying  all 
that  you  think  again.  I  've  been  mistaken.  It 's 
a  jest  to  you  here  still,  and  my  letters  would  be 
part  of  it." 

A  whistle  checked  the  hot  denial  on  the  man's 
tongue.  Why  say  more?  Nothing  but  deeds 
would  convince  this  girl. 


"NEED  A  BODY  CRY?"  157 

"  There  's  the  steamer."  He  was  the  older  man 
once  more.  "  I  '11  have  to  run  to  make  it.  Say 
good-by  to  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Green  for  me,  please." 
He  held  the  girl's  hand  for  a  moment.  "  I  asked 
for  your  faith.  It  did  n't  prove  —  that  of  the 
mustard  seed,  did  it?  Perhaps  I  can  make  it 
different  when  I  come  again.  Good-by." 

He  was  some  rods  down  the  trail  when  Kather- 
ine  started  after  him. 

"  Mr.  Proctor,  Mr.  Proctor  !  "  she  called. 

But  the  wind  carried  her  words  away,  and  the 
man  ran  on  unheeding. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE  DEBUT  OF  LADY  PATRICIA 

JANUARY  was  still  young  when  Mr.  Proctor 
drove  into  Wilsonport. 

He  checked  his  horse  at  the  edge  of  the  village 
and  turned  to  the  fur-wrapped  figure  beside  him. 
"  There  it  is,  Philip." 

The  figure  laughed.  "  It 's  what  I  expected. 
Brown  huts  and  a  forest.  What  in  the  world  did 
you  come  back  for  ?  " 

"  Why  did  you  insist  on  coming  with  me  ?  I 
didn't"  — 

"  No,  you  did  n't  urge  me.  Say,  Bob,  that 's 
not  so  bad.  Look  at  the  skaters !  " 

The  skaters  numbered  most  of  the  village,  for  it 
was  Saturday  afternoon,  and  the  ice  blue-black. 
A  crowd  blackened  the  shore,  and  from  pier  to 
lighthouse  the  sun  lighted  a  tropic  flowering  of 
scarlet  hoods.  Mr.  Proctor  hastened  at  the  sight. 

The  beat  of  hoofs  brought  Jessie  to  the  door. 
Her  face  suggested  that  the  unexpected  was  always 
the  unpleasant. 

"  This  is  my  cousin,  Mr.  Cabell,"  Mr.  Proctor 
explained.  "  You  '11  have  to  thaw  him  out  care 
fully,  Jessie.  I  *m  going  down  on  the  ice." 

Mr.    Proctor's    springing   step    as   he    walked 


THE   DEBUT  OF  LADY   PATRICIA          159 

toward  the  shore  came  from  a  pulse  that  would 
not  beat  calmly.  Yes,  he  had  certainly  come  be 
cause  he  wished.  The  crowd  upon  the  ice  was 
merry ;  he  caught  laughter  and  scraps  of  song, 
and  the  sound  chimed  well  with  his  own  pleasure. 
These  people  were  kindly  and  happy-hearted  after 
all.  It  was  part  of  his  supercilious  past  that  he 
had  thought  them  otherwise.  That  he  had  closed 
his  mill  because  his  men  had  tried  to  burn  it, 
slipped  from  his  memory. 

The  news  of  his  coming  ran  a  furlong  before, 
and  he  reached  the  ice  the  focus  of  amazed  glances. 
There  was  silence ;  so  still  it  was  that  from  out  by 
the  lighthouse  could  be  heard  the  click  of  ice  to 
steel.  Mr.  Proctor  sturdily  told  himself  that  this 
was  embarrassment,  and  persisted  in  his  greetings. 
He  met  but  indifferent  response,  and  when  the 
crowd  divided,  even  as  the  Red  Sea,  and  indicated 
a  path  to  Karen  Torstenson,  he  took  it  gladly. 

But  the  end  of  the  path  held  Mr.  Livingstone 
as  well.  Karen's  cheeks  suggested  that  this  was 
a  contretemps.  She  took  a  step  forward,  wavered 
back  to  the  schoolmaster,  then  stopped  to  hold  out 
a  limp  hand. 

The  months  of  breezy  intercourse  with  a  crowd 
ing  world  dropped  away  from  Mr.  Proctor.  He 
was  back  in  the  old  atmosphere  of  unexplained 
hostility  and  misunderstanding.  Again  these 
issues  seemed  vital. 

The  people  were  questioning  now,  but  Mr.  Proc 
tor  answered  absently.  He  had  not  traveled  for 
days  to  talk  of  the  roads.  Chevalier,  a  huddled 


160  THE  LEGATEE 

bunch  of  misery,  sat  on  the  shore.  Where  was 
the  dog's  mistress  ? 

He  did  not  understand  how  his  eyes  found  the 
answer.  Katherine  was  but  a  blue-crowned  speck 
drifting  in  from  the  lighthouse,  but  he  knew  her ; 
no  gull  slanted  its  strong-winged  flight  in  truer 
lines. 

As  her  face  grew  to  distinctness,  he  saw  that 
she  was  smiling  ;  but  smiling  as  if  at  her  own 
thought.  She  paid  no  heed  to  the  other  skaters. 
Her  face  seemed  older,  more  reliant.  The  lone 
liness  of  her  enjoyment  gave  her,  to  Mr.  Proctor's 
mind,  a  look  unexpectedly  remote. 

She  had  swayed  to  the  outskirts  of  the  group 
before  she  saw  Mr.  Proctor.  There  was  a  surge 
of  something  to  her  face.  Was  it  surprise  ?  The 
man  could  not  catalogue  it,  though  he  looked  in 
tently. 

She  dropped  her  arms  with  a  little  gesture  of 
greeting  and  dismay,  and  he  went  toward  her. 
He  had  not  pictured  this  meeting  with  half  the 
village  to  assist. 

"  I  did  n't  think  you  meant  it !  "  She  held  out 
a  mittened  hand. 

"  I  meant  it  —  absurdly.  I  meant  it  more  and 
more  with  every  day.  I  could  n't  have  stayed 
away." 

She  looked  at  him  with  serious  consideration. 
"  Father  will  be  so  glad  to  see  you !  He  's  en 
joyed  your  letters.  He  was  always  brighter  after 
they  came.  This  winter  —  the  winters  are  always 
long." 


THE  DEBUT  OF  LADY  PATRICIA         161 

He  placed  his  back  to  the  crowd.  "  The  winter 
has  been  a  century.  There  were  days  when  I 
knew  that  January  would  never  come." 

Her  lower  lip  took  refuge  between  her  teeth. 
"  Did  you  really  care  ?  "  Her  eyes  raised  slowly 
—  but  not  to  where  Mr.  Proctor's  were  waiting. 
"  Why,  who  is  that  ?  " 

Mr.  Proctor  turned.  "  My  cousin,  Philip  Ca- 
bell,"  he  said  curtly.  "  You  '11  like  him,  I  think." 

It  would  have  been  churlish  not  to  like  the  fig 
ure  that  swung  down  the  slight  incline.  Even  in 
the  disguise  of  the  heavy  overcoat,  it  was  debonair 
and  youthfully  assured. 

Mr.  Cabell  acknowledged  the  many  introduc 
tions  with  smiling  suavity,  but  went  straight  to 
ward  what  he  wanted.  The  gleam  of  Karen's 
hair  had  determined  his  course  when  he  was  yet 
yards  away,  and  a  further  view  made  him  politely 
deaf  to  his  cousin's  whispered  suggestions. 

Mr.  Proctor  turned  again  to  Katherine.  Her 
gravity  had  vanished;  this  was  the  face  of  the 
child  who  had  danced  with  Adrien  upon  the  light 
house  rock.  She  was  looking  at  his  cousin. 

44  A  new  species  ?  "  he  asked. 

She  laughed  with  frank  confession  of  her  curi 
osity.  "  Yes,  he  is  different,  but "  —  her  glance 
came  back  —  "  so  are  you  to-day,  for  the  matter 
of  that.  No,  it 's  not  your  coat.  Your  manner 's 
different,  and  you  look  so  —  so  —  so  alert.  Mr. 
Cabell  looks  the  same  way  —  as  if  he  must  seize 
things  as  they  came.  It 's  the  air  of  the  world,  I 
think.  Adrien's  letters  are  beginning  to  sound  as 
you  look." 


162  THE  LEGATEE 

"  You,  too,  are  different.  Have  you  grown  as 
much  wiser  as  you  are  taller?  Your  father  wrote 
me  that  you  had  n't  changed.  Fathers  are  poor 
authorities.  I  wonder  where  I  can  find  yours 
now." 

"  He  's  out  in  the  country.  I  'm  so  glad  I  look 
taller."  She  executed  an  elaborate  dance  step  on 
her  tottering  skates.  "  Why,  that 's  father  now  ! 
See,  driving  down  by  the  fish  shanties !  I  can 
skate  down  there  and  catch  him.  He  has  to  go 
away  now,  I  know,  but  he  '11  want  to  see  you  this 
evening." 

She  tucked  Chevalier  under  her  arm  and  was 
away.  Mr.  Proctor  turned  to  his  cousin.  "  Come, 
Philip  1  " 

"  Whom  were  you  talking  with  ?  "  Philip  asked, 
as  they  walked  toward  the  house.  "  She  blew 
away  like  thistle-down.  I'd  like  to  skate  with 
her." 

"  I  introduced  you.  Your  wits  deserted  when 
you  saw  Miss  Torstenson." 

"  'T  is  true,  't  is  true,  —  I  am  undone  !  "  the 
young  man  hummed ;  then  he  looked  at  his  cousin, 
and  his  own  face  sobered.  "  See  here,  old  chap," 
—  a  caressing  tone  came  to  him  as  easily  as  to  a 
woman,  — "  you  're  in  the  dickens  of  a  temper.  If 
I  'm  poaching  with  Miss  Torstenson,  say  so." 

Mr.  Proctor  looked  amused.  "  Oh,  to  be  young 
enough  to  see  game  in  every  thicket  I "  he  said, 
with  a  half  sigh. 

Dr.  Edmister  came  that  evening.  Had  Mr. 
Proctor  forgotten  his  friends  on  the  bluff  that 


THE  DEBUT  OF  LADY  PATRICIA         163 

they  should  both  look  older  ?  It  seemed,  too,  that 
the  doctor's  reticence  had  deepened.  Of  Mr. 
Proctor's  matters  he  talked  with  interest,  but  the 
tale  of  his  own  winter  he  put  by. 

"  How  long  will  you  be  here,  Proctor  ? "  he 
asked  at  length. 

Mr.  Proctor  studied  his  answer  unduly.  "  That 
will  depend.  A  day  or  a  month  —  as  it  seems 
wise.  We  go  to  the  camps  to-morrow  morning. 
I  '11  get  that  over,  then  play." 

Two  days  later  the  cousins  returned  from  the 
camps. 

"  I  had  to  drag  Philip  away,"  Mr.  Proctor  said 
to  Dr.  Edmister,  who  came  down  to  see  them. 
"  He  cried  for  a  red  cap  with  a  tassel." 

"  Did  you  see  much  of  the  men  ?  "  the  doctor 
asked. 

"  Really  nothing.  I  had  Cole  to  see,  and  De- 
tiere.  And  then,  I  did  n't  make  this  trip  to  see 
the  men." 

"  I  think  that  he  made  this  trip  to  see  you,  Dr. 
Edmister,"  Philip  interposed.  "  I  can't  find  any 
other  reason." 

Mr.  Proctor  looked  his  annoyance.  "  What 
has  become  of  Dr.  Griggs  ?  "  he  asked  rather  hur 
riedly.  "  I  suppose  he  's  still  here  ?  " 

It  was  the  doctor's  turn  to  look  evasive.  "  Yes, 
he 's  here.  What 's  this  affair  you  're  giving, 
Proctor  ?  You  've  spread  destruction  in  my  house 
hold.  Karen  is  there,  and  the  children  are  dress 
making  all  over  the  place.  I  've  sat  on  a  needle 
twice  already." 


164  THE  LEGATEE 

"  Oh,  it 's  this  infant  Philip,"  Mr.  Proctor  said, 
with  a  shrug  of  resignation.  "  He  's  interested  in 
types,  and  insisted  that  I  turn  showman.  I  can't 
make  him  see  that  this  is  a  serious,  hard-working 
life.  He  acts  as  if  it  were  a  dialect  play  produced 
for  his  benefit." 

The  doctor  smiled  ;  he  had  seen  the  glance  of 
affection  that  passed  between  the  cousins.  "  I 
wonder  if  you  know  how  you  've  changed,  Proc 
tor,"  he  said.  "  You  're  saying  of  your  cousin 
what  we  used  to  say  of  you.  But  this  party  to 
night  —  is  everybody  coming? " 

"  The  village  —  so  far  as  I  could  include  it. 
You '11  come?" 

"  Yes,  I  '11  bring  the  girls.  I  'm  glad  you  're 
doing  this.  It 's  what  we  need  —  wholesome 
amusement  to  bind  us  together.  Even  the  young 
people  get  tired  of  each  other.  I  don't  know 
when  Karen  has  been  at  the  house  before.  Well, 
good-by  till  evening." 

The  doctor  found  his  daughter  waiting  for  him. 
"  How  do  you  like  him  ?  "  she  demanded. 

The  doctor  seated  himself  rather  wearily. 
44  This  explosion  refers  to  Mr.  Cabell  ?  He  seems 
a  decent  enough  youth." 

The  girl's  brows  remonstrated.  "  Oh,  is  n't  he 
more  than  that  ?  This  is  my  first  party,  remem 
ber." 

44  And  Mr.  Cabell  is  the  party  ?  What  about 
Mr.  Proctor  ?  " 

Katherine  waltzed  to  the  window.  "  Mr.  Proc 
tor  is  Wilsonport,  and  hard  work,  and  gravity. 


THE  DEBUT  OF  LADY  PATRICIA          165 

Mr.  Cabell  is  the  world  and  the  frivols  thereof. 
I  wish  that  eight  o'clock  would  come." 

The  doctor  pulled  his  mustache.  "  Is  Karen 
equally  —  expectant  ?  " 

The  girl  smiled  rather  soberly.  "  Karen  is  be 
tween  two  fires,"  she  said.  "  She  wants  to  go  — • 
and  she  does  n't.  Of  course  Mr.  Livingstone  ob 
jects  to  her  going.  Mr.  Livingstone  is  n't  looking 
well.  I  wish  that  his  Dr.  Griggs  would  take  bet 
ter  care  of  him." 

Her  father  frowned.  "  Don't  let  me  hear  you 
say  '  his  Dr.  Griggs '  again,  Katherine.  It  is  a 
cheap  form  of  satire  and  is  in  very  poor  taste. 
Dr.  Griggs,  remember." 

Katherine  went  over  and  snuggled  her  face  in 
her  father's  neck  in  one  of  her  rare  caresses. 
"  I  don't  want  to  remember  him,"  she  whispered. 
"  Daddy,  you  have  n't  been  very  busy  this  winter. 
Is  it  a  distressingly  healthy  year  ?  " 

Her  father  pulled  her  down  upon  his  lap. 
"  Katherine,"  he  said,  with  gravity  that  she  knew 
meant  emotion,  "are  you  doing  Dr.  Griggs  the 
honor  to  be  jealous  of  him  for  me  ?  If  you  are,  I 
have  lost  the  fight  that  I  have  made  for  you  from 
babyhood.  Small  personalities  and  rivalries  are 
the  curse  of  village  life.  I  can't  do  much,  here  in 
the  woods,  to  equip  you  for  life,  but  I  can  at  least 
send  you  out  with  broad  horizons  and  a  horror  — 
a  horror,  I  say  —  of  petty  strivings."  The  catch 
in  his  voice  alarmed  him,  and  he  stopped  with  a 
little  laugh.  "  Will  you  horror  —  to  please  me  ?  " 
he  added,  as  he  stood  her  on  her  feet. 


166  THE  LEGATEE 

"  I  will  horror,"  she  promised  firmly,  and  there 
were  tears  of  determination  in  her  eyes. 

Karen  dressed  early  that  evening,  and  sat,  a 
completed  picture,  in  her  blue  gown  and  coroneted 
braids,  but  Katherine  loitered  with  the  air  of  one 
who  would  prolong  a  too-fleeting  joy. 

"  There !  "  She  perched  upon  the  bed,  and  fit 
ted  a  black  satin  slipper  on  a  foot  whose  neatness 
she  eyed  with  open  complacence.  "  My  mother's 
slippers !  I  may  be  Wilsonport  as  to  my  head, 
but  these  be  the  feet  of  sophistication  —  sophisti 
cation  of  some  years  back,  but  still  sophistication. 
If  I  lose  courage  when  Mr.  Cabell  speaks  to  me, 
I'll  put  out  a  foot,  and  reassure  myself.  How 
do  I  look,  Karen?" 

"  I  don't  know,"  demurred  Karen.  "  Could  n't 
you  wear  your  red  dress  ?  It 's  real  pretty." 

"  And  this  is  n't  pretty  ?  "  Katherine  went  to 
the  mirror,  and  studied  her  reflection.  Her  plain 
black  gown  was  cut  to  show  an  oblong  of  white 
throat,  and  she  had  edged  the  opening  with  gulls' 
breasts.  The  slender  black-gowned  figure,  with  its 
bands  of  shining  white,  had  a  look  of  bizarre  dis 
tinction  which  comforted  her  self-esteem. 

"  It 's  kind  of  pretty,"  Karen  admitted,  "  but  it 's 
so  queer  !  Won't  Mr.  Cabell  be  astonished  ?  " 

"  We  could  n't  astonish  Mr.  Cabell."  Katherine 
executed  a  pirouette  of  joy  at  the  thought.  "  He 
came  here  for  that  express  purpose.  There  !  When 
I  get  my  fan  I  '11  be  ready.  I  covered  an  old  fan 
with  the  gulls'  breasts,  too.  Don't  you  see,  Karen, 
we  're  an  interesting  sort  of  aborigine  to  Mr.  Ca- 


THE  DEBUT  OF  LADY  PATRICIA         167 

bell  ?  He  'd  consider  it  quite  in  character  to  find 
us  in  war  paint  and  feathers.  I  can't  oblige  him 
as  to  the  paint,  —  I  wonder  what  rouge  is  like,  — 
but  I  've  been  assembling  the  feathers  against  just 
such  an  emergency.  Let 's  see  what  father  says." 

Dr.  Edmister  bent  upon  them  the  meditative  look 
that  he  would  have  given  a  new  insect.  "  Karen 
looks  very  well,"  he  gravely  said,  "  but  you,  Kath- 
erine,  are  you  quite  —  quite  usual?" 

"  On  the  contrary,"  —  she  had  equal  solemnity, 
—  "I  am  most  unusual.  The  question  is,  Am  I 
effectively  so  ?  If  you  were  a  young  man,  and  had 
come  from  somewhere  into  nowhere,  what  would 
you  say  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  I  am  an  old  man,  and  am  very 
distinctly  somewhere.  As  it  is,  I  should  say  that 
you  were  a  stranger.  You  may  be  effective,  but 
you  are  not  of  my  previous  acquaintance." 

And  that  was  what  Mr.  Proctor's  eyes  said  when 
he  met  the  doctor's  daughter  that  evening.  Kath- 
erine  thought  that  his  silence,  as  he  greeted  her, 
was  disapproval.  But  it  was  not  that. 

Philip  crossed  the  room,  and  clutched  his  cousin 
by  the  sleeve. 

"  Who,"  he  demanded,  "  is  Lady  Patricia,  and 
why  did  n't  you  tell  me  ?  " 

"Miss  Torstenson?  You  talked  with  her  the 
other  day." 

"  I  talked  with  a  milkmaid.  There  she  is  now, 
by  the  way,  and  does  n't  she  look  pretty !  But  Lady 
Patricia  !  She 's  a  Malbone  miniature.  Are  you 
going  to  introduce  me  or  not? " 


168  THE  LEGATEE 

Mr.  Proctor  drew  in  his  breath.  "  If  you  mean 
Miss  Edmister,  go  and  speak  to  her.  You  've  been 
introduced  twice  already.  But,  Philip,  don't  — 
don't  spoil  her." 

Mr.  Proctor  himself  found  time  to  spoil  no  one 
by  undue  attention.  The  response  to  his  invitation 
had  proved  embarrassingly  feminine.  Where  were 
the  men  ?  Not  all  of  them  were  in  the  camps.  And 
why,  if  they  disdained  this  hospitality,  had  they 
permitted  their  wives  and  daughters  to  accept? 
Perhaps,  Mr.  Proctor  thought,  they  could  not  help 
themselves ;  women,  he  knew,  would  overlook  an 
antagonism  rather  than  forego  a  joy.  In  the  mean 
time,  these  wives  and  daughters  were  his  guests, 
and  he  had  the  instinct  of  the  host.  The  few  men 
who  were  dancing  showed  their  preferences  without 
check,  and  he  found  the  binding  of  the  wounds  of 
the  neglected  an  absorbing  care. 

Katherine  was  not  among  the  neglected.  Philip 
was  with  her  constantly,  and  her  face  was  radiant. 
It  was  late  in  the  evening  before  Mr.  Proctor  could 
go  to  her.  Her  eyes  welcomed  him,  but  told  him 
that  he  had  not  been  missed.  He  stood  in  silence 
for  a  moment,  playing  with  the  feathers  of  her  fan. 

"  Are  you  having  a  good  time,  Cinderella?"  he 
finally  asked. 

"  The  best  in  my  life.    The  very  best  in  my  life." 

"  Is  power  so  sweet  ?  There  's  a  world  of  good 
times  waiting  you." 

"  But  never  but  one  first  time,"  her  enjoyment 
bubbled  in  laughter,  "  and  never  but  one  —  I  'm 
going  to  tell  you  something.  I  Ve  never  known 


THE  DEBUT  OF  LADY  PATRICIA        169 

the  feeling  of  individuality  before.  I  've  always 
had  attention  at  second-hand  —  it  was  Karen's 
first.  If  she  was  busy,  people  —  it  has  n't  been 
men  alone  —  talked  to  me.  Sometimes  I  Ve  wished, 
a  little  bit,  that  people  would  come  to  me  first." 

"  But  you  've  been  a  child !  "  The  man  explored 
the  anatomy  of  the  girl's  fan,  and  a  fringe  of  down 
fell  upon  his  knee. 

"  Oh,  but  children  have  their  rivalries  !  Not  "  — 
she  was  still  smiling  happily  —  "  that  Karen  is 
to  blame  that  people  love  her  —  and  Karen  is  my 
friend.  But  she  's  had  admiration  enough  to  spare 
this  to  me,  and  it  has  been  —  pleasant  that  Mr. 
Cabell  did  n't  watch  Karen  while  he  was  talking 
to  me." 

"A  man's  thought  doesn't  always  follow  his 
eyes,  Miss  Katherine,"  Mr.  Proctor  said  bluntly. 
"  My  eyes,  for  instance,  have  n't  been  with  you  this 
evening.  My  thoughts  have." 

Katherine' s  ready  flush  crept  even  to  her  throat. 
"  Was  I  dancing  too  much  with  Mr.  Cabell  ?  I  've 
no  one  to  tell  me  these  things.  Father  does  n't 
notice." 

The  man  looked  at  her  resignedly.  He  felt 
himself  stiffening  into  the  aged  relative  that  she 
thought  him.  "  My  contention  is  not  that  you 
danced  too  much  with  Philip,"  he  said  senten- 
tiously,  "  but  too  little  with  me.  Come.  I  asked 
Heinrich  that  the  next  be  a  waltz.  May  I  have 
it  ?  "  He  rose  and  bowed  formally. 

The  girl  looked  perplexed.  "Mr.  Cabell 
asked"  — 


170  THE  LEGATEE 

"  And  Mr.  Proctor  asks  now.  Will  you  come, 
Miss  Katherine  ?  " 

Heinrich,  playing  with  half-shut  eyes,  looked 
up  to  see  these  two  together.  He  hesitated ;  then 
changed  his  melody.  It  was  the  air  that  he  had 
played  upon  the  lighthouse  rock  that  he  selected 
now,  and  he  smiled  to  himself  as  he  remembered. 

Mr.  Proctor  remembered  too,  but  he  did  not 
smile.  He  had  been  blind  that  August  day.  Could 
he  live  it  again,  Katherine  should  not  say  that 
Philip  was  the  first  to  pay  her  tribute. 


CHAPTER  XVII 

A   WINTER  BLOSSOMING 

"  LADY  PATRICIA  and  I  are  planning  a  skating 
party  for  to-night,"  Philip  announced  at  the  break 
fast  table  the  next  morning.  "  Too  bad  you  don't 
skate." 

Mr.  Proctor  pushed  his  plate  away.  "  See  here, 
Philip,  does  Miss  Edmister  permit  your  —  your 
familiarities  ?  " 

"  Calling  her  Lady  Patricia  ?  I  have  n't  tried 
it  yet.  But  I  'm  going  to." 

"  You  '11  not  have  much  time.  I  think  we  '11  go 
back  to-morrow." 

Philip  rose.  A  sudden  tightening  of  his  lips 
made  his  face  singularly  like  his  cousin's.  "  I  don't 
want  to  leave  yet,  Bob.  You  know  it  is  n't  neces 
sary.  You  spoke  of  staying  two  weeks.  We  've 
planned  a  lot  of  things.  We  go  to  the  lighthouse 
to-morrow." 

"  *  We '  is  Miss  Edmister  ?  " 

"  Well,  why  not  ?  I  've  sense  enough  to  appre 
ciate  her,  if  you  don't." 

"  I  do  appreciate  her." 

"  Not  as  you  do  Miss  Torstenson.  It's  odd  that 
you  don't  see  the  difference.  You  used  to  be  some 
thing  of  —  of  an  epicure  about  women.  And  you 
danced  with  Lady  Patricia  only  once  !  " 


172  THE  LEGATEE 

Mr.  Proctor  laughed  indulgently.  "  Your  dances 
with  her  should  keep  the  balance.  You  're  no  epi 
cure  in  your  pleasures,  my  boy."  He  walked  over, 
and  laid  a  hand  on  his  cousin's  shoulder.  "  See 
here,  Philip  Cabell,  I'm  not  going  to  turn  you 
out  of  my  house,  and  you  shall  stay  as  long  as  you 
wish,  but  —  Remember,  Philip,  that  you  begged 
me  not  to  stay  more  than  a  week.  Are  you  going 
to  change  your  plans  for  a  girl  that  you  '11  never 
see  again  ?  " 

The  young  man  reddened.  "  Nonsense  !  It 's 
the  country,  and  the  people  —  but  that  girl  is  all 
right.  You '11  stay?" 

Yes,  Mr.  Proctor  would  stay,  though  he  ques 
tioned  his  judgment  even  as  he  promised.  He  was 
irritated  with  his  own  feeling  of  the  importance 
of  this  decision.  Wilsonport,  he  decided,  destroyed 
his  point  of  view,  and  gave  an  air  of  potential 
tragedy  to  the  simplest  action. 

He  was  late  in  joining  the  skating  party  that 
evening.  When  he  did,  he  went  at  once  to  Kath- 
erine ;  she  had  stopped  for  a  moment  by  the  bon 
fire,  Philip  beside  her. 

"  Philip  has  had  his  share,"  the  man  said. 
"  Will  you  come  with  me,  Miss  Katherine  ?  " 

"  But  you  're  not  skating  "  —  Philip  looked 
at  his  cousin's  feet  and  whistled.  "  Better  try  it 
alone,"  he  warned. 

"Let  me  help,"  Katherine  interrupted.  She 
took  Mr.  Proctor's  arm,  with  the  avowed  partisan 
ship  that  women  give  the  helpless. 

Mr.  Proctor  timed  his  stroke  to  hers  without 


A  WINTER  BLOSSOMING  173 

answer,  and  soon  the  fire  fell  behind.  It  was  a 
phantasmal  world  that  lay  before  them,  and  the 
moon  reigned  queen. 

"  But  you  do  skate,  after  all,"  she  said. 

"  Never  until  to-day.  I  've  practiced  out  by 
the  lighthouse  all  the  afternoon.  I  did  it  that  I 
might  skate  with  you  to-night." 

She  gave  him  the  back  of  a  hood  to  study. 

"  I  did  it,"  he  went  on,  "  not  only  for  the  plea 
sure  of  being  with  you,  but  to  convince  you  that 
I  am  sometimes  in  earnest.  You  accused  me  of 
making  everything  in  connection  with  Wilsonport 
a  jest." 

She  turned  a  curiously  sobered  face.  "  I  tried 
before  you  went  away  to  tell  you  that  I  was  sorry 
for  that  speech.  I  followed  and  called,  but  you 
didn't  hear  me." 

"  And  you  would  have  written  to  me  after  all  ?  " 

Before  she  could  reply,  Ferdinante  Lauzeone 
swung  across  their  path.  She  was  skating  alone. 
Her  handsome  mouth  took  a  straight  line  as  she 
passed  Katherine,  and  her  eyes  stared  immovably 
in  front. 

Mr.  Proctor  turned  to  the  girl  beside  him.  Her 
eyes  were  full  of  tears.  She  felt  his  glance,  and 
her  free  hand  flew  to  shield  her  face.  But  her 
control  had  snapped.  She  dropped  on  a  log  that 
was  frozen  in  the  ice  at  their  feet,  and  hid  her  face 
in  her  hands.  Her  shoulders  told  of  the  sobs  that 
she  was  struggling  to  conquer. 

The  man  looked  down  at  her  in  dumb  unhappi- 
ness.  He  could  do  so  little,  and  he  felt  so  much  ! 


174  THE  LEGATEE 

The  girl's  small  figure  looked  incredibly  lonely  in 
the  pallid  light.  Yet  all  his  chivalry  begged  him 
to  walk  warily,  not  to  show  the  emotion  that  was 
clutching  him,  and  that  she  would  read  as  pity. 

She  raised  a  calming  face.  "  Does  n't  this  show 
that  I  trust  you  —  though  I  did  n't  intend  to  do 
it?" 

He  substituted  his  expansive  handkerchief  for 
her  tear-wet  one,  and  helped  her  to  her  feet. 
"  You  must  skate  or  you  '11  take  cold,"  he  said, 
with  gentle  authority  that  showed  no  kinship  with 
his  manner  of  ten  minutes  before.  "  And  now 
suppose  that  you  trust  me  more." 

"  I  've  wanted  to  cry  about  this  all  winter  — 
and  have  n't.  It 's  foolish  to  care  so  much.  But 
Ferdinante  won't  speak  to  me,  and  others  seem  to 
feel  the  same  way.  It 's  about  Adrien.  Ferdi- 
nante  feels  that  I  've  taken  him  away  from  her 
and  from  his  people." 

"  But  he  's  at  school  ?  " 

"  They  think  it 's  my  influence  that  sent  him 
there.  And  perhaps  they  are  right,  and  it  was  n't 
wise  for  him  to  go.  His  letters  sound  unhappy. 
But  I  wish  that  Ferdinante  could  know  that  I 
would  n't  take  him  from  her  —  that  I  wanted  him 
to  have  an  education  that  he  might  do  more  for  his 
people,  not  to  separate  him  from  them." 

"  Why  is  he  unhappy?  " 

The  girl  smiled  a  little  wearily.  Now  that  the 
storm  had  passed,  she  was  the  Katherine  whom  he 
had  seen  upon  the  ice  before  Philip  appeared,  —  a 
grave  and  somewhat  lonely  looking  woman. 


A  WINTER  BLOSSOMING  175 

"  I  don't  know,"  she  said.  "  You  will  under 
stand  better  than  I  because  you  know  the  world. 
I  'm  afraid  that  he  's  found  that  education  does  n't 
stand  for  what  he  expected.  He  thought  it  was 
all  that  he  lacked,  and  now  he  finds  that  there  are 
other  — distinctions." 

"  It 's  the  old  confounding  of  knowledge  with 
culture,  but  —  poor  Adrien  !  " 

"  I  may  be  imagining  this.  He  does  n't  say  it. 
Only  he  's  talking  Socialism  and  equality  of  mind. 
We  don't  know  distinctions  here  in  Wilsonport, 
and  it 's  hard  to  remember  them." 

"  But  that  is  n't  all,  Miss  Katherine." 

"  No,"  she  looked  at  him  with  the  frankest  con 
fidence,  "  it  is  n't.  But  I  think  that  I  'd  better 
not  tell  you  the  rest  now.  In  the  spring,  perhaps, 
I  will,  for  it 's  about  father.  There  's  Karen. 
Can  we  skate  that  way?  I  'd  like  to  speak  to 
her." 

They  were  within  a  few  strokes  of  Karen  when 
the  man  who  was  skating  with  her  turned  his  head. 
Katherine  stopped.  "  That  is  Mr.  Livingstone," 
she  said  softly.  "  Let 's  go  the  other  way." 

Mr.  Proctor  did  not  move.  "  Is  Mr.  Living 
stone  —  unpleasant  ?  Why  should  n't  we  speak 
to  Karen?" 

The  girl's  brows  lifted.  "  Reasons  are  Wilson- 
portish  ?  "  Then  she  dropped  her  flash  of  light 
ness.  "It's  not  Karen's  fault  that  Mr.  Living 
stone  does  n't  like  to  have  her  with  me.  And  I 
can  understand  his  side  of  it.  I  can't  look  at  life 
as  he  does,  and  he  thinks  my  ways  —  mischievous. 


176  THE  LEGATEE 

Though  he  should  know  that  I  would  n't  influence 
Karen." 

"  And  Karen  obeys  him,  while  you  stay  on  that 
hill  alone !  " 

Katherine  stiffened  ever  so  slightly.  "That 
hill  is  home  —  and  Karen  does  come  to  see  me. 
She  was  there  yesterday.  But  Mr.  Livingstone 
makes  her  unhappy  if  he  sees  her  with  me." 

"  Is  their  engagement  announced  ? "  the  man 
asked. 

"We  don't  announce  engagements  in  Wilson- 
port.  We  have  'understandings.'  Don't  think 
I  'm  lonely,  Mr.  Proctor.  I  have  n't  cried  all  win 
ter  as  I  did  to-night.  I  don't  know  why  I  did  it. 
And  I  'm  having  such  a  good  time  since  you  and 
Mr.  Cabell  came  1  " 

In  some  way  the  air  cleared  at  the  sound  of 
Philip's  name.  The  girl's  mouth  quirked  into 
dimples  at  thought  of  this  good  time,  and  her 
glance  sought  the  shore.  Philip  was  standing  by 
the  fire,  his  arms  folded  in  Napoleonic  loneliness. 
It  was  an  attitude  that  needed  no  commentary, 
and  even  Mr.  Proctor  laughed. 

Katherine  laughed  too.  Her  face  broke  into 
rollicking  youth  and  denied  all  memory  of  her 
tears. 

"  Suppose  that  we  skate  faster."  She  dropped 
his  arm,  and  executed  an  elaborate  spiral  for  sheer 
joy  in  her  skill.  "  I  want  to  run  away  from  my 
perplexities." 

Mr.  Proctor  turned  their  course  toward  the  fire. 
Katherine  would  not  run  far  from  her  perplexities, 


A  WINTER  BLOSSOMING  177 

he  saw,  if  lie  ran  by  her  side.  It  was  Philip  who, 
by  his  very  lack  of  knowledge,  stood  for  rest  and 
forgetfulness.  He  gave  her  into  Philip's  keeping, 
with  the  sharp  consciousness  that  her  eyes  had 
again  grown  happy. 

Not  that  he  resented  her  happiness.  Until  her 
tears  had  unmanned  him,  it  had  not  come  to  him 
how  vital  it  was  to  his  own  well-being  that  this 
girl  should  always  smile.  The  hot  impulse  to  as 
sert  his  own  claims  passed.  His  longing  to  see 
this  wayward,  frank-eyed  child  had  brought  him 
many  miles  ;  his  deeper  new-born  longing  to  save 
the  child  from  the  burdens  of  her  fast-crowding 
womanhood  tied  his  hands  now  that  he  was  here. 
For  she  had  given  him  trust,  confidence.  The 
simplicity  of  her  faith  in  him  pledged  him  to  the 
attitude  of  confessor  for  a  time.  And  the  spring 
was  coming. 

"  Will  you  send  your  daughter  away  before 
spring  ? "  he  asked  the  doctor  the  next  day. 
"  You  spoke  of  it  at  one  time." 

The  doctor's  eyes  fell.  "There  are  obstacles 
that  I  had  not  foreseen.  It  looks  increasingly 
difficult  to  arrange  her  going." 

Mr.  Proctor  stiffened  his  resolve.  "  Dr.  Ed- 
mister,  is  anything  wrong?  I  may  be  fanciful, 
but  I  've  been  disturbed  by  "  — 

"By  what  I  haven't  said?"  The  doctor  laid 
his  hand  for  an  instant  on  the  young  man's 
shoulder.  "  Don't  mind  my  silence,  Proctor.  I  'm 
cursed  with  a  dumb  devil  of  late.  But  it 's  good 
to  have  you  here !  No,  things  have  n't  been  quite 


178  THE  LEGATEE 

as  I  'd  wish  them,  but  —  I  '11  talk  It  over  with  you 
in  the  spring.  It  is  n't  anything  that  touches  your 
business,  of  course,  else  I  'd  tell  you  now." 

"  The  truth  is  that  what  touches  your  household 
touches  my  business,  —  or  what  I  should  like  to 
make  my  business,"  the  young  man  dared.  "  I  '11 
go  with  you,  if  you  're  going  home.  I  want  to  see 
Miss  Katherine." 

But  the  horseman  who  brought  the  tri-weekly 
mail  was  standing  before  the  post  office,  and  his 
bag  had  letters  for  Mr.  Proctor.  Mr.  Proctor 
read  them,  and  snapped  them  into  his  pocket. 

"It  means  leaving  to-morrow,"  he  said,  "and 
riding  out  to  see  Cole  this  afternoon.  I  thought  I 
had  my  wires  better  laid." 

Yet  he  went  first  to  the  house  on  the  bluff. 
Katherine  sat  with  Philip  in  the  living-room,  but 
Mr.  Proctor  went  at  once  to  her  side. 

"  Will  you  come  in  the  other  room  with  me  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  I  want  to  see  you  alone." 

Katherine  followed  instantly.  Her  face,  as  the 
man  saw  to  his  swift  chagrin,  paled  a  little. 

"  I  wish  that  I  did  n't  always  do  the  wrong 
thing  with  you.  I  did  n't  mean  to  frighten  you. 
It 's  just  that  I  learned  five  minutes  ago  that  I 
must  leave  to-morrow,  and  I  wanted  to  see  you 
first." 

The  girl's  eyes  questioned. 

"  It 's  only  this.  I  have  to  ride  to  the  camp 
to-night,  so  must  talk  fast.  Miss  Katherine,  I  've 
been  distressed  over  what  you  told  me  the  other 
night.  I  can  supply  a  great  deal  that  you  did  n't 


A  WINTER  BLOSSOMING  179 

say.  I  hoped  to  talk  with  you  again,  and  at 
length.  But  I  've  time  for  only  one  question.  I 
must  leave  now,  but  if  I  come  back  —  in  a  few 
weeks,  say  —  can  I  be  of  service  ?  Will  you  let 
me  come  ?  Can  I  do  anything  ?  " 

The  girl  turned  from  him,  and  hid  her  face 
against  the  door. 

"  No,  no !  "  she  said.  "  You  can't  do  anything. 
But  to  think  that  you  would  do  this  for  us  !  " 

"  You  mean  that  absolutely  ?  You  wish  me  not 
to  come  ?  " 

"  I  mean  absolutely  that  it  would  be  unwise  for 
you  to  come.  Indeed,  Mr.  Proctor,  it  would  n't 
do.  It  would  n't  do  on  your  own  account.  Your 
men  "  — 

"  My  men  hate  me.  The  few  who  are  here  re 
fused  to  dance  under  my  roof.  But  that  does  n't 
matter.  I  will  make  it  different  in  the  spring. 
Nothing  is  of  consequence  now,  but  that  something 
has  hurt  you  and  your  father.  What,  I  cannot 
understand." 

"  Don't  try  to  understand.  Perhaps  it  will 
change  before  spring.  And  you  would  have  come 
back  for  father  !  " 

"  Not  for  your  father  alone.  You  are  giving 
me  confidence.  It  has  been  hard-won.  Will  you 
trust  me  again  in  the  spring,  Katherine  ?  " 

He  had  never  before  forgotten  the  prefix.  Her 
color  flamed,  but  she  gripped  her  hands  hard,  and 
forced  her  eyes  to  meet  his  own  with  candor. 

"  Yes,"  she  said,  "  I  will  trust  you  again  in  the 
spring." 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE   GATE    IS    BARKED 

SPRING  is  an  elastic  term ;  Mr.  Proctor  under 
stood  it  to  mean  the  first  steamer  of  the  season. 

The  steamer  was  unexpected,  and  there  were 
few  men  upon  the  pier.  Mr.  Proctor  greeted  them 
briefly.  Whether  his  greetings  were  returned  was 
not  of  moment.  What  was  of  moment  was  that 
he  had  not  heard  from  Dr.  Edmister  in  some  time, 
and  that  he  was  going  at  once  to  the  house  on  the 
bluff. 

He  went  up  the  trail  with  unseeing  eyes.  Sum 
mer  beckoned  from  among  the  budding  birches, 
but  the  sorceries  of  the  woodland  were  not  for  him 
that  day. 

Vision  returned  rudely.  He  reached  the  doc 
tor's  gate,  to  find  it  barred.  A  conspicuously  let 
tered  scarlet-fever  sign  was  nailed  to  the  bar,  and 
a  note  beneath  begged  all  who  read  to  respect  the 
quarantine. 

Mr.  Proctor  considered  the  notice  long,  and 
with  frowning  intent.  Once  he  placed  a  hand 
upon  the  fence  as  if  to  vault  it.  In  the  end  he 
walked  rapidly  down  the  trail. 

As  he  passed  the  schoolhouse  the  children  were 
singing ;  Livingstone  would  be  within.  Fear, 


THE  GATE  IS  BARRED  181 

which  ran  hot  behind  Mr.  Proctor,  pushed  him  up 
the  steps.  What  matter  that  Livingstone  was 
unfriendly!  He  was  seeking  a  voice  that  could 
answer  questions.  As  well  Livingstone  as  any. 

He  stepped  to  the  open  door.  "  One  question, 
Livingstone  !  I  've  been  up  to  the  doctor's.  Who 
is  ill?" 

The  schoolmaster's  surprise  made  him  neglect 
ful  of  his  dignity.  "  111  ?  There 's  nobody  at 
Dr.  Griggs's.  He  just  went  by." 

It  seemed  a  senseless  evasion,  but  Mr.  Proctor's 
voice  was  even. 

"  I  meant  Dr.  Edmister.     Is  he  ill  ?  " 

The  light  of  curiosity  in  Livingstone's  face 
showed  that  he  had  been  misjudged.  "  We  al 
ways  think  of  Dr.  Griggs  when  any  one  says  '  the 
doctor.'  I  was  not  aware  that  Dr.  Edmister  was 
sick.  What  is  the  matter  ?  " 

Mr.  Proctor  went  down  the  steps  without  speak 
ing.  He  had  no  room  in  his  thought  to  wonder  at 
Livingstone's  ignorance. 

An  unusual  number  of  people  were  abroad  in 
the  one  street.  The  camps  had  closed  early  for 
lack  of  snow,  and  the  men  were  idle  ;  they  lounged 
in  red-shirted  groups  along  the  muddy  highway. 

"  Olson  !  Swanson  !  "  Mr.  Proctor  called. 
"  Wait !  "  He  reached  the  men.  "  There  is  a 
scarlet-fever  sign  at  Dr.  Edmister's.  Who  is  ill  ?  " 

The  men  shook  their  heads.  As  with  Living 
stone,  genuine  interest  stirred  their  eyes. 

"  It  might  be  the  doctor,"  one  ruminated.  "  I 
ain't  seen  him  down  town  in  I  don't  know  when." 


182  THE  LEGATEE 

Mr.  Proctor  turned.  His  face  was  set  toward  the 
bluff.  Barred  gates  had  no  meaning  for  him  now. 

"  Hold  on,  Mr.  Proctor,"  a  man  called. 
"  There  's  Dr.  Edmister  coming  out  of  your  house." 

The  moment  that  passed  for  Mr.  Proctor  before 
he  could  grasp  Dr.  Edmister's  hand  gave  him 
time  to  grow  haggard. 

"  Is  Katherine  worse  ?  "  he  demanded. 

"  Katherine !  Katherine  is  all  right.  What  is 
the  matter,  Proctor  ?  "  The  doctor's  lips,  too,  were 
gray.  His  tone  was  almost  irascible. 

"  Katherine  is  all  right  ? "  Mr.  Proctor 
searched  the  doctor's  face  incredulously.  "  But 
the  sign  on  your  gate  "  — 

"  You  have  been  there  already  ?  "  The  doctor 
turned  back,  and  his  eyes  were  dim ;  then  he 
squared  his  shoulders.  "  No,  it  is  n't  Katherine. 
It 's  the  little  Torkildson  girl.  She  lived  with  the 
Murphys  on  the  Birch  Creek  road.  They  refused 
to  give  her  proper  care,  so  I  had  to  take  her  home. 
I  '11  go  back  to  the  house  with  you  for  a  moment. 
Jessie  has  heard  that  you  are  here,  and  is  light 
ing  a  sacrificial  fire  for  you  in  the  front  room.  I 
thought  that  the  first  steamer  would  bring  you. 
You  're  looking  well,  Proctor." 

The  doctor  himself  was  not  looking  well.  His 
step,  as  he  followed  Mr.  Proctor  to  the  study,  was 
inelastic. 

"  Have  you  been  ill  this  winter,  doctor  ?  "  Mr. 
Proctor  repented  his  bluntness  even  as  it  passed 
his  lips. 

"  IU  ?    Nonsense !  "    The  doctor  shrugged  with 


THE  GATE  IS  BARRED  183 

his  old  impatience.  "  Never  felt  better."  Yet  the 
hand  that  fumbled  with  the  fastenings  of  his  over 
coat  shook  as  it  had  not  done  six  months  before. 

Mr.  Proctor  poked  at  the  fire.  "  I  could  n't 
learn  anything  definite.  Your  sign  gave  me  a  bad 
half  hour." 

The  doctor  frowned.  "  But  I  could  n't  do  any 
thing  else,"  he  protested.  "  I  could  n't  let  the 
child  die." 

The  doctor's  tone  brought  the  young  man  to  his 
side.  "  You  think  that  Katherine  is  going  to  be 
ill,"  he  asserted. 

"  I  tell  you  I  could  n't  do  otherwise."  The  doc 
tor  drew  his  coat  about  him  and  shivered,  though 
the  stove  in  front  of  him  already  vibrated  with 
heat. 

"  Whatever  comes  —  Katherine's  mother  would 
have  had  me  do  the  same  thing.  And  after  all, 
scarlet  fever  —  But  one's  own  flesh  and  blood  — 
We  're  all  cowards." 

"  Send  to  Brownsville.  I  '11  start  now.  I  can 
have  another  physician  here  by  to-morrow  noon." 

"  To  have  him  find  an  impertinent  young  woman 
who  refuses  to  go  to  bed  ?  "  The  doctor  shook  his 
shoulders,  as  if  to  free  himself.  "  No,  I  've  in 
fected  you  with  my  own  senseless  nerves.  The 
child 's  hardly  sick  yet,  but  I  know  the  symptoms. 
Let 's  drop  the  thought  of  it.  I  came  down  here 
to  regain  my  point  of  view." 

"  The  quarantine  "  —  The  young  man  stopped, 
and  beat  a  tattoo  on  his  chair.  "  I  am  coming  to 
your  house  from  now  on,  Dr.  Edmister." 


184  THE  LEGATEE 

The  doctor  rose,  his  hat  in  hand.  "  You  are 
not  coming  to  my  house  until  I  give  you  permis 
sion." 

"  But  you  will  give  me  permission  when  you 
understand." 

"  I  will  never  give  you  permission  so  long  as 
there  is  danger  of  contagion,  and  if  you  attempt 
to  come  I  will  oppose  you  by  force.  I  told  you 
once  what  an  epidemic  means  in  a  place  like  this. 
I  am  talking  violently,  for  a  great  deal  is  at 
stake." 

"  Because  for  me  everything  is  at  stake  "  — 

The  doctor  did  not  seem  to  hear  him.  "  I  shall 
send  you  word  whenever  I  can,"  he  interrupted. 
"  Wait !  We  '11  contrive  a  post  office.  There  is 
a  hollow  pine  at  the  top  of  the  trail." 

"  I  will  be  there  twice  a  day." 

Dr.  Edmister  studied  the  rubbed  carpet.  "I 
have  missed  you,  Proctor.  Have  you  any  message 
for  Katherine  ?  She  asked  to  be  remembered  to 
you,  by  the  way." 

The  young  man  bowed.  "  Only  my  warm  re 
gards.  My  message  I  will  bring  in  person  — 
when  I  come." 

"  You  're  coming !  " 

"  So  long  as  the  -news  is  favorable  —  no.  But 
otherwise  —  it  will  take  more  than  force  to  stop 
me." 

The  doctor's  look  softened.  "  I  will  leave  the 
messages.  Good-by." 

The  young  man  wakened  as  the  doctor  walked 
away.  He  realized,  suddenly,  how  fragmentary 


THE  GATE  IS  BARRED  185 

their  talk  had  been  ;  how  little  interest  he  had 
shown  in  the  doctor's  greeting.  A  pang  of  belated 
hospitality  dulled,  for  a  moment,  the  ache  of 
anxiety  that  he  felt  had  been  his  companion  for 
years,  instead  of  for  an  hour.  Well,  there  would 
come  a  day  when  Dr.  Edmister  would  understand. 

"There  would  come  a  day."  Mr.  Proctor 
walked  the  floor  with  impatience  that  the  day 
must  be  again  delayed.  He  was  glad  to  see  Cole 
approaching.  Cole  stood  for  action,  —  action  that 
was  to  undo  the  false  beginning  of  the  previous 
year. 

As  usual,  Cole's  pauses  told  more  than  his  re 
ticent  speech.  He  was  glad  that  Mr.  Proctor  was 
back  ;  it  had  been  a  strange  winter  —  little  snow 
and  unseasonable  heat.  Logging  had  been  diffi 
cult  for  six  weeks,  and  the  men  had  had  too  much 
leisure.  It  would  be  all  right  now  that  the  mill 
was  to  open. 

Cole  made  his  adieus,  then  came  back  with  a 
postscript.  He  delivered  it  with  unmistakable 
reluctance. 

"What  do  you  think  about  employing  Yngve 
Torstenson  again  ?  " 

"  Has  Yngve  been  in  mischief  ?  " 

"  He  likes  to  talk."  Cole  gave  his  unwilling 
smile.  "  He  's  taking  elocution  lessons  from  Dr. 
Griggs." 

In  spite  of  his  anxiety  Mr.  Proctor  laughed. 
"  Then  employ  him  by  all  means.  He  will  serve 
as  barometer  and  messenger  boy." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

AN    IMPULSE? 

THERE  was  a  note  in  the  hollow  tree  the  next 
morning.  "  Katherine  is  ill,"  it  read,  "  but  I  think 
that  the  case  promises  to  be  a  light  one.  Minnie 
Torkildson  is  out  of  danger." 

Mr.  Proctor  put  the  paper  in  his  pocket,  with  no 
change  of  look.  The  suggestion  that  the  case 
would  be  a  light  one  meant  nothing.  He  was 
familiar  with  the  doctor's  unfailing  optimism. 

As  he  went  through  the  village  he  stopped,  with 
the  sudden  realization  that  there  was  no  one  but 
Olive  Cole  with  whom  he  could  share  his  anxiety. 
His  mouth  grew  hard ;  he  was  beginning  to 
understand  the  loneliness  in  Katherine's  face  that 
had  troubled  him  in  January.  He  studied  the 
mean  houses,  the  squalid  street.  Katherine  had 
talked  to  him  with  tears  of  these  people;  had 
called  them  her  friends  ;  had  said  that  they  loved 
her  father.  They  were  proving  that  she  was 
wrong.  The  glow  of  reforming  zeal  with  which  he 
had  looked  forward  to  the  year's  work  gave  way  to 
sick  distaste.  He  had  thought  to  begin  the  season 
with  a  talk  to  the  men ;  he  was  in  no  mood  for  it 
Stow.  He  welcomed  the  work  that  lay  before  him, 
but  he  knew  that  he  would  do  it  stolidly.  The 


AN  IMPULSE?  187 

best  of  his  thought  was  tarrying  on  the  doctor's 
bluff. 

Summer  arrived,  in  defiance  of  the  calendar,  in 
the  coming  days ;  the  air  was  close  and  steaming. 
People  did  not  wonder  that  Mr.  Proctor  looked 
fagged.  He  was  working  late  in  his  office,  and 
walked  a  great  deal.  It  was  supposed  that  he  was 
examining  the  timber. 

The  bulletins  at  the  hollow  tree  were  monoto 
nously  guarded.  "  As  well  as  can  be  expected  " 
was  the  favorite  phrase.  Mr.  Proctor  shared  his 
news  with  no  one ;  the  forest  was  his  confidant. 

But  the  forest  walks  held  compensations.  What 
matter  that  spring  were  early  —  the  birds  and  the 
flowers  were  awaiting  it.  Even  in  the  dimness  of 
woodland  paths,  where  the  snow  yet  lingered,  the 
arbutus  dragged  its  rough  leaves  to  the  warmth, 
and  burst  into  pink-flushing  beauty.  Its  haunt 
ing  fragrance  was  the  breath  of  coming  summer, 
and  the  dreams  that  it  brought  wove  magic  from 
the  lengthening  sunbeams.  The  birches  on  the 
headland  looked  out  from  veils  of  misty  gray  that 
heralded  their  robes  of  green.  On  all  sides  was 
the  divine  unrest  of  birth.  Old  as  the  resurrection 
miracle  it  might  be,  but  it  waked  the  man  who 
watched  upon  the  doctor's  trail  to  a  new.  know 
ledge  of  himself  and  life. 

He  walked  up  the  trail  one  day,  to  find  Louis 
Detiere  before  him.  The  Belgian  was  sitting  on 
a  log  near  the  hollow  tree,,  and  his  look  estimated 
Mr.  Proctor  less  as  a  man  than  a  possible  source 
of  news. 


188  THE  LEGATEE 

"  The  doctor,  or  his  girl  ?  "  Detiere  pointed  to 
the  scarlet-fever  sign. 

"  It  is  Miss  Edmister." 

"  Good  !  "  The  man  stroked  the  column  of  his 
bared  neck  with  approval.  "  The  doctor,  he  has 
lost  his  nerve,  and  would  die,  but  she  will  get  well 
—  the  girl  will." 

"  How  do  you  know  she  will  get  well  ?  "  Mr. 
Proctor  had  been  waiting  for  three  weeks  for  this 
assurance;  he  could  not  ignore  it,  whatever  its 
foundation. 

"  How  do  I  know  that  she  get  well  ?  "  The  Bel 
gian  rose,  and  stretched  his  superbly  muscled  arms 
above  his  head.  "  See  me  !  "  he  said  arrogantly. 
"  Would  not  I  get  well  ?  She  is  like  me  —  that 
girl.  She  will  want  to  get  well,  and  she  will  get 
well.  She  has  grit,  and  gets  what  she  wants.  The 
fever  —  pouf  !  "  he  tossed  the  thought  of  it  from 
off  his  ringer  tips.  "  But  the  doctor  is  old,  and 
give  up." 

"  What  do  you  mean?" 

Detiere  stopped  to  call  down  furies  of  unmen 
tionable  size  and  name  upon  the  village.  "  The 
people  kill  the  doctor,"  he  said.  "  All  winter  no 
one  came  to  him.  They  go  to  Dr.  Griggs." 

"  But  the  men  were  in  the  camps." 

"  Not  all.  No,  it  was  Dr.  Griggs,  and  the  doc 
tor  he  know  it  and  get  old.  When  the  people  see 
him,  they  go  away  because  they  are  ashamed." 

"  Why  do  you  admire  Dr.  Edmister  so  much, 
Detiere  ?  "  Mr.  Proctor  had  walked  with  the  Bel 
gian  to  the  foot  of  the  trail.  The  message  could 
wait  until  he  was  alone. 


AN  IMPULSE?  189 

Detiere  laughed  till  the  woods  echoed.  "  Why 
do  I  like  Dr.  Edmister?  Why  do  I  like  you?" 
His  look  patronized  even  as  it  commended.  "  I 
can  do  things.  See  !  "  He  tossed  his  open  knife 
at  a  distant  pine,  and  the  blade  stuck  quivering  in 
a  knot  that  showed  itself  as  target.  "  I  can  boss 
people,  and  I  choked  a  wolf  with  my  own  hands. 
I  like  strong  men.  The  people  is  sheep.  They 
like  Dr.  Griggs." 

The  talk  with  Detiere  proved  the  turning-point. 
"  Better  "  ran  the  messages,  and  "  Still  better," 
till  there  came  a  day  when  "Out  of  danger" 
looked  up  at  Mr.  Proctor.  The  words  blurred  ; 
he  read  them  several  times,  as  if  to  get  their  mean 
ing.  He  was  a  long  time  going  down  the  trail  that 
day.  A  robin  was  singing,  and  he  found  a  clus 
ter  of  bloodroot  in  a  sheltered  hollow.  It  would 
be  weeks  before  Katherine  could  run  down  the 
path  with  her  old  dancing  step,  but  if  he  could 
help  her  —  He  picked  a  stone  from  the  way,  and 
trimmed  some  intrusive  branches,  while  the  robin 
mocked  him  for  his  pains. 

As  he  reached  the  village,  he  saw  the  smoke 
of  a  departing  steamer.  He  hastened  his  step. 
There  should  be  a  package  of  books  for  him  in  this 
mail.  Perhaps  Katherine  could  read  soon.  At  all 
events,  he  would  send  her  the  books,  and  she  could 
exult  in  the  uncut  leaves. 

He  saw  Jessie  at  his  side  door,  and  made  a  de 
tour  to  greet  her.  She  should  share  in  this  over 
flowing  of  good-will. 

"  Any  mail  ?  "  he  shouted.    "  I  expected  a  pack- 


190  THE  LEGATEE 

Jessie  lifted  an  expressive  face.  "  It  came,"  she 
said.  "  It 's  hanging  up  its  things  in  the  side 
bedroom." 

Mr.  Proctor  walked  to  the  door  of  the  side  bed 
room. 

"  Well,  Philip  !  " 

"Hello,  old  chap!"  The  young  man  turned 
his  winning  smile.  "  You  did  n't  get  my  letter  ?  " 

"  Naturally  not.     Why  did  you  come  ?  " 

"  Commend  me  to  my  guardian  for  a  welcome ! 
How  is  she,  Robert  ?  " 

"  Miss  Edmister  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  Did  you  come  these  thousand  miles  to  ask  that 
question  ?  " 

"  I  've  asked  it  now,  anyway,  and  I  'd  like  an 
answer.  Confound  you,  Robert,  if  you  've  bad 
news,  tell  it !  " 

"  I  beg  your  pardon,  Philip.  She 's  better. 
Out  of  danger." 

"  Good  for  Lady  Patricia  !  "  The  lad  whistled 
his  relief.  "  I  'm  awfully  glad  to  hear  it." 

"  You  understand  it  will  be  some  time  before 
you  can  see  her  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that 's  all  right !  "  Philip  laughed  easily. 
"  See  here,  Bob,  don't  take  this  so  seriously.  I 
told  you  I  was  coming  up  some  time  this  summer, 
and  I  thought  I  'd  come  now,  and  get  the  early 
fishing.  If  it  is  n't  convenient,  though  "  — 

"  It 's  always  convenient."  Mr.  Proctor  threw 
an  arm  over  his  cousin's  shoulder.  "  It 's  been 
convenient  ever  since  you  were  in  kilts,  you  repro- 


AN  IMPULSE?  191 

bate,  and  you  know  it.  I  'm  getting  the  manners 
of  Wilsonport." 

"  You  're  awfully  good  to  me.  I  '11  be  square 
with  you,  Kobert.  You've  been  brother  and 
cousin  and  guardian  together.  I  did  come  to  see 
that  girl,  in  a  way.  It  was  just  because  you  wrote 
that  she  was  ill.  I  could  n't  get  her  out  of  my 
head  after  that.  It  seemed  so  forlorn  to  think  of 
her  on  that  hill,  with  no  one  to  care  what  became 
of  her.  And  I  was  coming  later,  anyway." 

Mr.  Proctor  smiled,  —  a  rather  tired  smile,  that 
came  often  to  replace  the  half-cynical  lightness  of 
the  year  before. 

"  I  believe  you  're  rather  a  credit  to  your  guar 
dian,  after  all.  Well,  come  to  supper." 

A  week  later  Philip  appeared  in  his  cousin's 
office  door. 

"  Dr.  Edmister  's  coming,"  he  announced.  "  If 
that  means  that  Lady  Patricia 's  receiving,  say  a 
good  word  for  me." 

Dr.  Edmister  held  Mr.  Proctor's  hand  a  long 
time. 

"  I  '11  have  another  patient,"  he  said.  "  You  're 
overworking." 

"  My  hardest  work  has  been  to  keep  my  promise 
to  you." 

"  I  've  seen  you  on  the  trail.  Well,  —  it 's  over. 
Come  up  to-morrow.  We  '11  be  fumigated  by  that 
time.  What  have  you  been  doing,  Proctor?" 

"  Climbing  your  trail.  I  '11  climb  it  with  a  hap 
pier  heart  now." 

The  doctor  drew  a  chair  to  the  window.     "  How 


192  THE  LEGATEE 

blue  the  water  is !  "  he  said  irrelevantly.  "  It 's  a 
glad  world." 

"  It 's  a  glad  world  for  me  —  but  it  has  n't  been. 
May  I  talk  seriously  for  a  few  moments,  doc 
tor  ?  " 

The  doctor  buttoned  his  coat.  "  Now  I  wonder 
if  you  're  going  to  ask  me  about  last  winter  !  "  he 
protested.  "  I  thought  I  had  something  —  an  anx 
iety  —  to  share  with  my  friend,  but  I  find  that 
I  've  not.  Since  Katherine  is  herself  again  I  learn 
that  I  love  this  country,  and  am  happy  in  it.  It 's 
a  mysterious  land,  wild  and  austere,  and  the  people 
are  like  the  country.  But  they  are  my  people. 
Their  hearts  are  right,  and  they  are  worth  being 
patient  with  when  they  make  mistakes.  So  what 
more  is  there  to  say  ?  Don't  misunderstand  me, 
Proctor.  I  would  come  to  you  first  if  I  were  in 
perplexity." 

"  I  think  that  I  understand." 

"  Yes,  I  think  that  you  do.  But  I  've  another 
explanation,  that 's  not  so  easy.  I  must  make  it 
before  you  see  Katherine.  I  hope  that  you  will 
be  able  to  understand  my  motive.  I  have  told 
my  daughter  nothing  of  your  kindness  in  these 
last  weeks  —  God  knows  that  I  feel  it  myself  — 
beyond  the  fact  that  you  inquired  occasionally. 
The  flowers  I  have  carried  to  her  room  —  but  have 
said  nothing.  Can  you  understand  ?  " 

"  Why  should  you  —  They  were  trifling  cour 
tesies." 

"  They  were  far  from  trifling  courtesies  to  me," 
— the  doctor  avoided  his  friend's  eyes,  —  "  but  they 


AN  IMPULSE?  193 

meant  little  to  you,  in  a  way,  and  that  is  what 
Katherine  would  not  understand.  She  would  ex 
aggerate.  You  can  hardly  grasp  the  limitations 
of  the  life  that  she  has  lived.  What  would  be  the 
courteous  phrase  of  friendship  —  of  acquaintance, 
even  —  in  the  life  that  we  have  known  would  be 
demonstrative  to  her.  She  is  a  grateful  child,  and 
rather  hungry  for  liking  —  or  so  I  have  thought 
lately.  It  is  difficult  not  to  say  more  than  I  mean. 
This  small  concealment  has  been  for  your  sake  as 
well  as  for  hers." 

Mr.  Proctor  lifted  his  head.  The  pallor  of  the 
winter  had  not  left  his  face,  and  he  looked  white 
enough  to  make  the  doctor  pause.  "  But  suppose 
that  I  wish  her  to  exaggerate  ?  I  have  tried  to  tell 
you  this  before.  What  would  you  say  then  ?  " 

The  doctor  did  not  reply  for  a  moment.  He 
walked  the  room.  "  I  should  say,"  he  said  at 
length,  "  that  I  was  confused  —  that  I  would  ask 
you  to  wait  —  that  this  was  an  impulse."  He  came 
back  and  held  out  his  hand,  looking  at  it  with 
scorn  when  he  saw  that  it  trembled.  "  You  know 
how  I  feel  about  you,  Proctor.  But  —  I  'm  not 
prepared  for  this.  Suppose  that  we  forget  it  for 
a  time.  We  're  all  overstrained,  and  —  then  the 
weather.  Did  you  ever  see  such  heat  at  this  time 
of  year  ?  The  roads  are  dusty  now." 

Mr.  Proctor  had  regained  his  speech  and  his 
color.  "  My  impulse,  as  you  call  it,  does  n't  depend 
on  the  state  of  the  roads."  He  looked  at  the  older 
man  with  a  determined  smile.  "  If  you  say  wait, 


194  THE  LEGATEE 

I  will  wait  —  for  a  time.      I  have  waited   now 
longer  than  you  would  suspect." 

The  doctor  studied  the  young  man.  "  Well, 
come  up  to-morrow.  And  bring  your  cousin,  if 
he'd  like  to  come." 


CHAPTER  XX 

THE   MASK   OF   DUTY 

THE  cousins  found  Katherine  on  the  veranda 
the  next  day.  She  was  throned  in  an  armchair, 
and  was  obviously  sovereign  of  the  occasion.  Dr. 
Edmister  wore,  even  from  the  distance,  the  air  of 
a  satellite,  and  Mr.  Proctor's  breath  halted  as  he 
realized  again  how  ill  the  girl  must  have  been  to 
justify  such  an  attitude  in  her  father  —  the  father 
who,  with  all  his  easy  catholicity,  maintained, 
even  with  his  daughter,  the  distinction  of  an  un 
approachable  reserve. 

It  was  a  wasted  Katherine  who  greeted  the  young 
men,  but  one  whose  face  was  aflame  with  renewed 
interest  in  life.  Her  eyes  defied  the  memory  of 
illness,  and  exulted  in  the  wonder  of  living.  The 
happiness  in  her  face  as  she  welcomed  her  friends 
was  as  impersonal  as  the  caress  of  the  wandering 
breeze ;  she  welcomed  them  as  she  welcomed  the 
sunshine. 

Mr.  Proctor  watched  her  in  what  he  felt  was  in 
excusable  silence.  Yet  no  rage  at  his  dumbness 
could  find  him  words.  The  memory  of  his  vigils 
in  the  forest  made  paltry  the  usual  phrases,  and 
those  were  all  that  he  had  opportunity  to  use. 
Philip  swept  the  conversation  with  him,  and  Dr. 
Edmister  sat  by  and  used  observant  eyes. 


196  THE  LEGATEE 

But  Mr.  Proctor  claimed  something  for  himself 
as  he  was  leaving. 

"  May  I  come  to-morrow  —  alone  ?  "  he  asked. 

As  Katherine  looked  at  him  in  answer,  he  real 
ized  how  her  manner  had  changed  even  since  Jan 
uary  ;  how  steady  and  controlled  it  had  become. 

"  Yes,  come,"  she  said. 

But  with  the  to-morrow,  Katherine  looked  tired. 
The  radiant  courage  in  her  eyes  persisted,  but  her 
face  showed  lines. 

"  Don't  stay  long,  Proctor,"  Dr.  Edmister 
warned,  "  and  don't  talk  of  anything  more  serious 
than  the  weather — that's  serious  enough  to  be 
uncomfortable.  Is  n't  it  warm  !  " 

And  so  it  was  not  until  the  end  of  his  brief  call 
that  Mr.  Proctor  touched  upon  anything  that  he 
really  wished  to  say. 

"  I  've  a  great  many  questions  —  but  your  fa 
ther  asked  me  not  to  stray  from  the  barometer. 
You  '11  have  to  talk  to  me  a  day  at  a  time  when 
you  're  stronger.  You  remember  you  promised." 

Katherine  laced  her  thin  fingers  together,  and 
studied  the  water  through  the  oblong  openings 
that  she  made. 

"  I  do  remember.  I  'm  glad  to  remember.  But 
I  don't  want  to  talk  about  anything  in  Wilsonport 
—  now.  It 's  cowardly  to  turn  my  back  on  what 
has  to  be  faced  eventually,  but  —  I  'd  like  to  have 
a  playtime  while  Mr.  Cabell  is  here  ;  just  as  we 
had  in  January.  There  will  be  time  to  be  serious 
when  we  are  alone  again.  I  've  almost  forgotten 
how  to  play." 


THE  MASK  OF  DUTY  197 

"  Miss  Katherine,  you  treat  me  as  if  I  were  a 
walking  homily !  I  have  been  known  to  jest  — 
upon  compulsion." 

Katherine  dropped  her  hands,  and  her  mouth 
looked  suddenly  troubled.  "  But  not  lately,"  she 
said.  "You  jested  all  the  time  when  you  first 
came  —  and  at  everything.  You  don't  now.  I 
don't  think  you  know  how  you  have  changed. 
Wilsonport,  and  everything  in  it,  means  care  and 
gravity  to  you.  You  must  have  dreaded  to  come 
back." 

"  Wilsonport  means  everything  that  is  nearest 
my  heart,  —  the  home  that  I  dream  of  making, 
the  —  This  is  not  what  I  promised  your  father. 
Well,  we  '11  agree  to  play.  Philip  is  my  lord  para 
mount  of  the  art." 

Yes,  Katherine  looked  white  and  tired.  "  But 
you  '11  play  too  ?  "  she  asked. 

"Yes,  I '11  play  too." 

But  he  did  not.  His  business  pressed  savagely. 
The  men  were  not  working  as  they  should,  and  ac 
complishment  lagged.  A  feeling  of  tension  showed 
even  in  Cole's  face. 

"  The  men  are  so  sulky  I  'm  afraid  to  push 
them,"  he  confessed.  "  Perhaps  it  will  be  better 
when  this  hot  spell 's  over." 

But  work  could  not  have  detained  Mr.  Proctor 
had  there  been  holiday  time  in  his  spirit.  There 
was  not.  Philip  came  and  went  in  the  doctor's 
household,  with  a  happy  assurance  of  welcome  that 
made  it  impossible  for  the  somewhat  perturbed 
host  to  say  him  nay,  and  the  lad  frolicked  with 


198  THE  LEGATEE 

Katherine  through  the  sunshine  hours  with  an 
abandon  that  Mr.  Proctor  could  not  share.  The 
man  acknowledged  that  he  must  seem  stiff  and  un 
adaptable,  but  he  had  reached  a  point  where  his 
tongue  betrayed  him.  He  could  not  be  in  the 
near  presence  of  this  girl  without  showing  some 
what  of  his  mind.  It  would  be  unkind  to  trouble 
her  —  yet.  And  so  he  stayed  away.  Philip  would 
be  leaving  soon,  and  the  summer  would  be  long 
and  gracious  in  its  opportunity. 

But  Philip  did  not  go,  and  the  days  sped.  Mr. 
Proctor  spoke  at  last. 

"  They  're  writing  me  from  home,  and  I  'm  at 
the  end  of  my  excuses.  I  think  you  '11  have  to 
leave  on  the  next  steamer." 

Philip  chewed  his  lip,  and  walked  a  few  paces. 
"  It 's  that  office,  I  suppose.  I  think  I  '11  stay  an 
other  month,  and  take  the  chances." 

Mr.  Proctor  laid  down  his  papers.  "  You  '11 
lose  the  chances,  you  mean.  If  they  '11  take  you 
in  the  office  after  your  procrastination,  you  go. 
You  must  take  this  steamer." 

"I  must?" 

"  I  happen  to  be  guardian,  farce  that  it  is,  and 
you  're  several  months  short  of  your  majority,  my 
boy.  Be  reasonable.  You  've  had  a  long  holiday. 
Why  not  go  ?  " 

"  I  'm  not  ready." 

"  Philip  !  Philip !     Life  is  n't  play." 

The  boy  squared  his  shoulders.  "  No,  life  is  n't 
play,  I  suppose,  nor  love,  nor  happiness,  nor  any 
thing  else  but  grind.  Oh,  I  did  n't  mean  to  say 


THE  MASK  OF  DUTY  199 

that,  old  chap !  But  you  've  been  so  queer  lately, 
and  I  don't  like  to  be  pushed  off  this  way.  Fur 
thermore,  I  don't  intend  to  go.  I  'm  not  going 
till  I  've  had  an  answer  from  Katherine  Ed- 
mister." 

"  An  answer  from  Miss  Edmister  !  " 

"Miss  Katherine  to  every  one  else,  Miss  Ed- 
mister  to  me !  She  does  n't  need  help  in  hedging 
her  dignity." 

"  But,  Philip !    Have  you  spoken  to  her  father  ?  " 

"  No.  Yes,  yes,  I  will.  I  'm  speaking  to  you 
first.  But  you  see  that  I  can't  go  away." 

"  I  see  that  you  can  go  on  Saturday's  steamer." 

"  And  if  I  refuse  ?  " 

Mr.  Proctor  walked  the  room.  "  Philip,"  —  he 
laid  a  hand  upon  his  cousin's  shoulder,  —  "  we  *re 
saying  what  we  '11  regret.  We  've  lost  our  balance. 
But  you  must  go  away.  This  won't  last.  It  has  n't 
root  enough.  You  must  go  away." 

"  I  am  in  earnest,  Robert.  No  one  but  myself 
can  tell  whether  it  has  root  enough.  And  after 
all  — why  not?" 

"  You  are  too  young.     You  must  wait." 

"  Wait  till  another  man  wins  her  ?  And  she  's 
young,  too.  And  I  've  hoped  lately  —  Oh,  well, 
I  've  got  to  face  it,  whichever  way  it  goes.  Why 
do  you  disapprove  ?  " 

Mr.  Proctor  did  not  answer  for  a  time.  He 
stopped  walking,  and  sat  at  his  desk.  "  I  have  no 
reason  to  disapprove,"  he  said,  with  mechanical 
quiet.  "  You  have  a  right  to  your  chance  as  well 
as  the  next  man.  I  suppose,  as  you  say,  it  is  suit- 


200  THE  LEGATEE 

able.  You  are  both  young,  and  —  I  had  n't  thought 
of  it.  But  I  must  ask  you  to  go  Saturday,  if  pos 
sible.  There  is  double  reason  for  it  now.  You 
need  the  position." 

"  Yes,  I  suppose  that  I  do.  All  right,  I  '11  go 
Saturday.  I  'in  glad  to  have  had  this  talk,  Bob. 
I  have  n't  liked  the  distance  between  us." 

Mr.  Proctor  passed  his  hands  over  his  face,  as  if 
to  smooth  the  lines  that  he  knew  were  hardening. 
*'  The  distance  has  been  my  selfishness,"  he  said 
slowly.  "  You  '11  come  to  me,  Philip,  when  you 
have  something  to  tell  ?" 

Philip  nodded  soberly.     "  I  '11  come  to  you." 

But  Saturday  came  without  bringing  further 
confidences.  The  cousins  sat  together  on  a  pile  of 
bark,  and  waited  for  the  steamer. 

"  I  promised  to  tell  you,"  Philip  said  after  long 
study  of  the  horizon,  "  but  I  've  nothing  to  tell.  I 
could  n't  do  it.  I  '11  write  —  then  she  can't  change 
the  subject." 

"  If  she  has  tried  to  change  the  subject "  — 

"  I  don't  know  that  she  has.  I  don't  know  that 
she  's  thought  about  it,  either  way.  I  never  could 
get  her  to  be  serious.  Oh,  she 's  been  Lady  Patri 
cia  all  right  enough  —  pleasant,  but  miles  away. 
I  thought  that  when  I  said  good-by  —  but  it  was 
the  same  story." 

A  scroll  of  smoke  grew  distinct  on  the  horizon, 
and  the  men  rose. 

"There's  the  steamer,  Kobert."  Philip  held 
out  his  hand.  "  Wish  me  luck.  You  have  n't 
done  that,  and  I  'd  like  to  hear  you  say  it." 


THE  MASK  OF  DUTY  201 

Mr.  Proctor  took  the  hand  and  held  it  for  a 
moment.  "  What  a  boy  it  is,  after  all,"  he  said. 
"  Where  's  your  bag  ?  " 

"  Katherine  likes  you,"  —  Philip  used  the  name 
boldly,  as  if  its  sound  gave  him  courage,  —  "  and 
what  you  say  counts  with  her  always.  Do  your 
best  for  me.  Promise  to  do  that." 

The  man  looked  at  the  lad  whom  he  loved. 
"  Don't  send  another  to  do  your  wooing,"  he  cried. 
"  You  're  leaving  me  alone  with  your  Priscilla. 
Don't  ask  me  to  promise  anything.  Leave  my 
hands  free." 

'Philip's  flush  paled  swiftly.  "  I  beg  your  par 
don  —  I  had  never  thought  of  this,"  he  stumbled, 
as  if  thinking  slowly.  Then  his  color  returned, 
burning  and  angry.  "  So  this  is  why  you  hurried 
me  away !  " 

Mr.  Proctor  met  his  gaze  quietly.  "  Be  just, 
Philip.  I  gave  you  your  opportunity.  I  am 
claiming  mine." 

"  Then  it 's  all  over  with  me."  Philip  dropped 
his  bag,  and  his  breath  was  almost  a  groan.  "  You 
can't  mean  it,  Robert !  You  're  not  serious  !  " 

"  I  am  very  serious.  I  do  you  the  justice  to 
think  you  the  same.  Now  it  rests  with  her  to 
choose." 

Philip  pressed  his  hands  together.  The  steamer 
was  rocking  against  the  pier.  "  To  choose !  Pre 
cious  little  choice  about  it  when  you  're  alone  with 
her  all  summer.  And  you  hurried  me  away.  It 
was  n't  fair,  Bob,  it  was  n't  fair  !  And  if  I  could 
stay  a  week  longer  I  think  —  Promise  not  to  say 
anything  to  her  this  summer." 


202  THE  LEGATEE 

"  Now  it  is  you  who  are  not  fair.  It 's  a  sorry 
snarl,  Philip,  but  let  us  stand  up  to  it  without 
whining." 

"  I  'm  not  whining.  I  'm  asking  for  my  rights. 
It  was  n't  square  to  try  to  pack  me  off  this  way 
without  giving  me  a  hint.  I  can  get  a  vacation  in 
October.  Promise  not  to  say  anything  till  I  come 
back  then.  That  will  give  us  both  a  fair  field. 
Promise  me  that,  Bob !  " 

"  I  can't,  Philip."  Mr.  Proctor's  face  was  gray. 
"  That  is  a  promise  no  man  has  a  right  to  exact." 

"  But  I  ask  you  for  it." 

"  You  won't  when  you're  cooler,  my  boy. 
There,  you  must  go.  If  it  were  anything  else  in 
the  whole  world —  But  —  I  can't.  Good-by." 

A  moment  later  Philip  appeared  at  the  stern 
of  the  boat.  A  wake  of  churning  water  foamed 
between  his  cousin  and  himself,  but  he  called 
across  it. 

"  I  do  ask  for  your  promise,  Kobert.  Remem 
ber  that  you  sent  me  away." 

Mr.  Proctor  shook  his  head,  but  his  step  lagged. 
The  struggle  had  cost  him  dear. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE   PROMISE 

THE  next  morning  gave  hope  of  rain ;  cloud- 
streamers  banded  the  sky,  and  the  horizon  line 
showed  gray-white  and  threatening.  It  had  been 
pitilessly  clear  for  weeks,  and  now,  from  mill  to 
lighthouse,  courage  rose  with  the  sinking  mercury. 
A  rain  might  yet  save  the  crops. 

Mr.  Proctor  spent  the  day  in  his  office,  but 
though  his  papers  claimed  him,  his  glance  haunted 
the  barometer.  The  air  was  breathlessly  still,  and 
clouds  were  gathering.  A  drought  was  the  frequent 
forerunner  of  a  tempest.  He  knew  the  potentiali 
ties  of  the  lake  in  a  storm  —  and  he  knew  that  he 
had  sent  Philip  away. 

Late  in  the  afternoon  Dr.  Edmister  came  to 
the  office.  "  Where  have  you  been  of  late  ?  "  he 
chided.  "  It 's  to  your  undoing,  wherever  it  is. 
You  're  looking  wretchedly.  What  are  you  taking 
to  heart  —  your  mill,  or  the  weather  ?  " 

"  The  weather.  You  suggested,  you  remember, 
that  my  emotions  hung  on  the  barometer." 

The  doctor  attempted  to  look  grave,  and  failed. 
"  Don't  scoff  at  the  barometer.  It  rules  emotion 
more  than  young  heads  like  yours  admit.  Well, 
we  're  going  to  have  rain  at  last." 


204  THE  LEGATEE 

Proctor's  anxious  look  returned.  "  I  'm  afraid 
this  is  n't  rain.  I  hope  that  you  can  be  at  home 
to-night,  for  it  acts  like  wind.  It 's  going  to  be  a 
tempest,  or  the  mercury  's  a  liar." 

The  mercury  proved  true.  The  wind  came  at 
sunset  out  of  a  sable  sky.  A  white  furrow  cut 
the  oily  stillness  of  the  lake,  and  with  a  sibilant 
scream  the  storm  leaped  to  the  land.  Mr.  Proctor 
watched  it  from  the  window,  and  his  face  was  grim. 
That  the  house  he  stood  in  crouched  shivering  in 
the  gale,  did  not  concern  him. 

He  watched  the  storm  for  hours.  It  was  battle 
royal  that  the  wind  had  with  earth,  and  the  chances 
seemed  in  favor  of  the  gale.  The  lightning,  lacing 
the  low  scudding  clouds,  showed  the  lake  black  and 
struggling.  Philip  was  somewhere  in  that  chaos, 
and  he,  his  guardian,  had  sent  him. 

He  walked  the  floor,  and  strove  for  reason. 
This  thought  that  jumped  at  his  throat,  this  sense 
of  accountability  for  Philip,  might  be  morbid,  but 
it  would  not  away.  It  was  useless  to  tell  himself 
that  he  had  done  what  seemed  duty,  that  no  man 
could  be,  or  should  wish  to  be,  his  brother's  keeper ; 
all  excuses  read  as  sophistry  in  the  face  of  two 
statements.  He  had  pushed  Philip  into  this  dan 
ger.  He  had  done  it  because  Philip  blocked  his 
way.  The  man  put  it  to  himself  thus  badly,  though 
conscious,  even  as  he  did  so,  that  it  was  but  half 
the  truth.  The  truth  was  deeper,  tenderer,  harder 
to  find.  Faced  with  his  own  soul,  Mr.  Proctor 
knew  that  he  had  tried,  gropingly,  but  with  mouth 
set  hard,  to  hold  himself  to  what  seemed  best  for 
all  of  them.  But  Philip  could  not  know  this. 


THE  PROMISE  205 

It  was  not  a  night  for  sleep.  The  rain  was 
shredded  into  mist  by  the  wind,  and  the  air  was 
sulphurous  and  dust-laden ;  the  sob  of  the  lake 
could  be  heard  above  the  storm.  It  was  possible 
that  the  Buffalo  steamer  had  found  port,  but  the 
possibility  looked  more  remote  with  every  hour. 

"  I  do  ask  for  your  promise,  Kobert.  Remem 
ber  that  you  sent  me  away."  The  words  echoed. 
What  had  then  sounded  like  ruthless  egotism, 
seemed  now  a  legitimate  appeal.  Mr.  Proctor 
lived  his  life  again,  and  reviewed  his  obligations. 
Where,  he  asked  himself  at  last,  should  Philip  turn 
for  support,  if  not  to  the  man  who  had  stood  to  him 
for  brother  ? 

But  it  was  not  his  struggle  with  the  balance- 
sheet  of  his  conscience  that  made  Mr.  Proctor  most 
wakeful ;  it  was  the  thought  of  Philip's  danger. 
The  elemental  temptation  assailed  the  man  to  bar 
gain  with  Fate  ;  to  say,  "  Spare  Philip,  and  I  will 
give  my  own  happiness  as  ransom."  Yet  even  as 
the  thought  came,  he  put  it  by.  His  was  not  a  God 
of  barter. 

The  night  and  the  next  day  passed.  Then  word 
came.  "  The  steamer  Undine  of  the  Buffalo  line 
lay  at  Cedar  Harbor  during  the  storm." 

Mr.  Proctor  read  the  message,  and  walked  to 
the  door.  It  was  a  dreary  world.  The  air  was  sul 
try,  and  wreckage  littered  the  sand.  But  the  very 
austerity  of  life  supplied  the  iron  for  the  man's 
resolve.  He  would  make  the  promise  now,  freely, 
and  under  no  compulsion.  The  trust  that  Philip 
had  tried  to  thrust  upon  him,  he  would  accept.  He 


206  THE  LEGATEE 

would  step  aside,  and  hold  an  even  step  till  Philip 
could  return. 

And  with  this  promise  in  his  heart,  he  was  free 
to  go  once  more  to  the  house  upon  the  bluff.  He 
had  withdrawn  thought  and  glance  from  there  for 
a  day,  and  he  starved  for  a  word. 

As  he  climbed  the  trail,  he  heard  Chevalier's 
plaintive  staccato.  His  step  hastened.  Whatever 
his  promise,  he  could  at  least  see  Katherine.  But 
Katherine  was  not  in  sight,  and  a  bend  in  the  trail 
showed  Chevalier  scratching  at  the  foot  of  a  large 
pine. 

"  Hold  him,  old  fellow !  "  Mr.  Proctor  pushed 
by  the  dog,  and  peered  upward.  The  game  was 
easily  found ;  it  was  curled  in  a  blue  ball  on  a 
stout  branch,  and  its  eyes  were  wrathful. 

Mr.  Proctor  recoiled,  as  if  he  were  the  detected 
one.  "  Are  you  hurt  ?  "  he  called  sharply. 

"  Not  seriously,"  came  the  response,  after  a 
pause.  "  I  should  n't  be  ten  feet  above  the  ground 
if  I  were  permanently  disabled."  The  voice  matched 
the  eyes. 

The  man  forgot  everything  but  his  joy  in  the 
tone ;  this  was  the  happy,  brier-set  Katherine  of 
an  earlier  day. 

"I'll  wait  for  you  here."  He  selected  a  log 
with  some  ostentation.  "  When  you  're  tired  of 
playing  dryad,  I  '11  help  you  down." 

"Will  you?"  A  small  laugh  answered  him. 
"  Turn  your  back  for  a  minute,  and  you  '11  see." 

There  was  a  stir  in  the  pine  needles,  and  the 
girl  stood  before  him.  Her  cheeks  were  pink,  and 


THE  PROMISE  207 

her  eyes  embarrassed,  but  there  was  welcome  in 
her  face,  —  welcome  that  hastened  the  man  in  con 
fusion  to  declare  his  message. 

"  I  've  good  news  for  you,  Miss  Katherine.  The 
Undine  is  safe.  I  've  just  heard." 

"  That  is  good  news.  I  've  been  anxious."  And 
that,  with  the  breath  of  a  sigh,  was  all.  The  day 
had  passed  when  Katherine's  mind  was  his  for  the 
reading. 

"  Mr.  Proctor,"  she  said,  as  they  walked  on,  "  you 
said  that  you  would  talk  with  me  sometime.  Is 
to-day  sometime  ?  " 

"  All  days  are  '  sometime  '  if  you  will  talk  with 
me." 

Katherine  stopped.  Her  hair,  cut  during  her 
illness,  framed  the  eager  face  that  she  lifted  to  him 
in  scrolls  of  reddish  gold.  "  Have  you  time  ?  How 
much  of  that  speech  is  of  the  world,  and  how  much 
is  of  Wilsonport  ?  I  did  n't  mean  to  say  that.  For 
you  '11  think  that  I  don't  appreciate  your  interest 
in  anything  that  concerns  father.  And  I  do.  In 
deed  I  do.  Shall  we  take  this  path  ?  If  we  go  to 
the  house  now,  we  '11  meet  the  men." 

"What  men?" 

"  I  heard  Louis  Detiere  coming  with  some  of  his 
men,  and  "  — 

"  And  you  climbed  the  tree.  Miss  Katherine, 
you  must  n't  come  down  here  alone !  " 

Katherine's  chin  lifted.  "You  don't  under 
stand.  That's  part  of  what  I  want  to  tell  you. 
I  was  n't  afraid  of  the  men,  but  it  was  pleasanter 
not  to  be  seen." 


208  THE  LEGATEE 

"  But  Chevalier  !  If  the  men  had  been  a  minute 
later  he  would  have  called  them  to  the  tree.  Don't 
do  it  again  !  And  don't  come  down  the  trail  alone ! 
Promise  me  that." 

"  May  I  eat  and  sleep  ?  The  trail 's  as  necessary 
to  me.  Chevalier  was  there  all  the  time.  He  lay 
like  a  stone  till  the  men  passed." 

"But  I  heard  him  barking  before  I  reached 
you." 

Sudden  contempt  threaded  the  girl's  speech  with 
laughter.  "  He  saw  you  first  —  else  he  would  n't 
have  barked.  Chevalier  has  never  been  properly 
acclimated  in  Wilsonport.  He  does  make  —  dis 
tinctions." 

There  was  flattery  in  the  pause  before  the  last 
word,  and  a  flying  dimple  led  the  way  to  forgetful- 
ness,  but  Mr.  Proctor  kept  his  eyes  down.  His 
thought  was  sombre.  What  had  looked  like  the 
path  of  duty,  arid  but  well  marked  and  clear  to 
follow,  now  showed  tortuous  windings.  Every 
word  told  him  that  his  tongue  was  not  his  servant 
when  he  was  with  Katherine.  And  if  he  took  this 
comradeship  that  she  was  proffering,  could  he  hold 
his  share  of  it  within  the  bounds  of  his  control  ? 
The  debatable  land  where  friendship  joins  love  has 
not  been  mapped.  He  had  promised  not  to  cross 
the  line.  He  would  not  cheat  himself  with  phrases. 
Yet  if  he  could  help  her  — 

Katherine  stopped  at  a  flower-fringed  log.  "  Let 
us  sit  down,"  she  said  more  soberly.  If  she  felt 
rebuff  in  his  manner,  she  hid  her  discomfiture  in 
dignity  that  became  her  well.  "  And  now  to  go 


THE  PROMISE  209 

back  to  last  winter.  You  knew  then  that  some 
thing  was  wrong." 

"  But  about  Detiere  first !  This  farce  of  his 
needing  a  doctor  has  gone  far  enough." 

"It's  a  farce,  but  a  kindly  one."  Katherine 
crossed  her  hands  to  hold  them  steady,  and  her 
face  lost  its  glow.  "  Now  to  begin  at  the  begin 
ning  "  — 

"  I  know  the  beginning.  It 's  about  Dr.  Griggs. 
I  can  spare  you  that." 

Katherine  rested  her  chin  in  her  hand,  and 
looked  at  him  gravely.  "  Why  try  to  spare  me  ? 
Our  evasions  can't  alter  the  fact.  No,  I  'd  rather 
put  the  situation  in  words,  even  though  I  know 
that  you  must  understand  part  of  it  already.  The 
people  have  deserted  father  for  Dr.  Griggs.  The 
feeling  began  before  the  mill  closed  last  year,  and 
grew  through  the  winter.  We  've  lived  alone  for 
months." 

"  It 's  unbelievable.     I "  — 

Her  hand  checked  him.  "The  worst  is  over, 
and  —  never  mind.  But  that 's  what  brings  Mr. 
Detiere.  He  not  only  comes  himself ;  he  brings 
his  men.  They  're  all  uncompromisingly  well,  and 
father  frowns  and  sends  them  away.  It 's  absurd, 
but  it 's  an  effort  at  loyalty.  Do  you  wonder  that 
I  called  it  a  kindly  farce? " 

It  was  the  man  who  hunted  for  words.  Her 
composure  hurt  him.  What  had  not  this  vivid 
girl  endured  that  the  months  should  have  taught 
her  tongue  control ! 

"  In  January,"  she  went  on,  "  I  was  bewildered, 


210  THE  LEGATEE 

unhappy.  I  did  n't  know  what  it  all  meant.  I  had 
thought  that  the  people  loved  my  father.  I  had 
been  proud  of  their  love  for  him.  It  —  it  choked 
me  sometimes  just  to  think  that  I  was  his  daughter. 
And  they  do  love  him.  They  do.  I  can  see  how 
it  all  happened.  I  've  had  a  great  deal  of  time  to 
think.  For  one  thing,  father  kept  me  away  from 
the  village  on  —  on  just  a  little  different  plane, 
and  the  people  resented  it.  They  did  n't  feel  that 
he  was  one  of  them  —  but  he  was.  Indeed  he  was. 
He  did  it  all  for  me.  If  I  could  only  have  under 
stood  this  earlier.  And  so  when  Dr.  Griggs  came 
and  lived  among  them,  and  had  temperance  meet 
ings,  they  —  well,  that 's  the  story." 

"  That 's  not  all  the  story.  The  story  is  the  in 
gratitude  of  the  matter  —  the  injustice.  Your 
father  had  been  as  watchful,  as  tender,  as  Provi 
dence  itself." 

The  girl  looked  troubled.  "  I  wish  that  you 
would  n't  think  of  it  in  that  way.  I  don't  —  not 
now.  I  —  I  don't  know  how  to  say  this."  Her 
voice  halted  with  sudden  timidity.  "  But  have  we 
any  right  to  act  as  Providence  for  others  ?  Think 
of  the  mischief  that  I  've  made !  Not  about  your 
mill  alone  —  Oh,  please  don't  speak  of  that !  — 
but  about  Adrien.  I  was  sure  that  I  knew  best  as 
to  what  he  should  do,  and  I  've  made  such  a  tangle 
for  everybody.  Not  that  father  would  do  anything 
like  that,  and  father  does  know  what  is  best,  but 
he  couldn't  help  trying  to  hold  the  people  to 
standards  that  they  did  n't  understand.  I  hope 
that  this  doesn't  sound  as  if  I  were  criticising 


THE  PROMISE  211 

father.     But  I  'm  able  to  see  now  that  I  must  n't 
call  the  people  ungrateful.     Father  does  n't." 
"  You  've  talked  with  your  father  about  it  ?  " 
"  Only  once.     I  wanted  him  to  go  away.     Can 
you  talk  to  him  about  it,  Mr.  Proctor  ?     You  can 
influence  him.     That  is  why  I  am  telling  you  the 
whole  story." 

"  He  does  n't  wish  to  go  ?  " 
"He  was  ready  to  go  last  winter,  but  now  — 
He  's  never  talked  with  me  but  once,  but  he  told 
me  —  I  hope  that  he  would  n't  mind  my  telling 
you  this  —  he  told  me  that  he  was  not  willing  to 
leave  the  people  with  only  Dr.  Griggs  for  a  phy 
sician.      He   has   found   that   Dr.   Griggs  is  not 
competent.     He  —     You  know,  Mr.  Proctor,  that 
he  would  n't  say  that  to  any  one  but  me  ?  " 
"I  know." 

"  And  now  I  am  telling  you.  But  I  know  that 
you  care  for  father." 

"  Yes,  I  care  for  your  father." 
"  And  he  must  go  away ;  he  must  go.  I  can't 
say  anything  more.  If  I  try,  he  laughs  and  talks 
of  the  economic  conditions  in  Corea.  But  he  must 
go  away.  He  is  not  well.  Will  you  talk  to  him 
about  it  ?  " 

Mr.  Proctor  pulled  the  bark  from  the  log  beside 
him,  and  a  straggling  line  of  ants  skurried  over 
his  marauding  fingers. 

"  There !  "  he  said.     "  That  comes  of  interfer 
ence.     It's    just   what   you   were   saying.     Why 
could  n't  I  have  spared  their  roof  !  " 
"  You  'd  rather  not  speak  to  father  ?  " 


212  THE  LEGATEE 

He  looked  down  into  her  eyes.  She  held  them 
wide  for  him  for  a  fleeting  second. 

"Dare  I  take  the  responsibility?"  he  asked 
very  slowly.  "  I  don't  know.  I  'm  not  as  ready 
to  answer  such  a  question  as  I  would  have  been  a 
year  ago.  It  was  you  who  taught  me  to  pause  — 
who  changed  my  standpoint." 

The  girl  did  not  seem  to  hear  his  last  words. 
Her  face  looked  pinched. 

"  I  am  worried  about  father,"  she  said  almost 
mechanically.  "  And  you  won't  help  me  ?  " 

He  stretched  out  a  hand.  "  Is  that  fair  ?  Do 
you  think  it 's  easy  for  me  to  sit  here  and  refuse  ? 
But  —  I  have  learned.  There  would  come  a  day 
when  —  you  would  not  respect  me  if  I  urged  your 
father  to  leave  now.  He  can't  desert,  and  leave 
the  people  in  Dr.  Griggs's  hands.  It  is  you  who 
taught  me  to  understand  that." 

She  rose  and  stood  before  him  with  her  hands 
pressed  together.  "Men  are  so  strong,  so  sure 
that  they  are  right !  For  even  father  does  n't  care 
if  it  hurts  me.  You  pick  out  a  goal,  then  ride 
roughshod.  I  —  I  don't  care  for  the  people,"  — 
her  careful  tones  broke,  —  "I  am  worried  about 
father."  She  walked  away;  then  came  swiftly 
back.  "  I  'm  wrong,"  she  said,  with  a  catch  in  her 
voice  that  hung  between  sobs  and  laughter.  "  I  'm 
wrong,  and  you  're  right.  But  —  let 's  change  the 
subject." 

"  Not  before  you  let  me  say  "  — 

"  Please  —  please  !  "  she  interrupted.  She  sat 
beside  him  again,  and  ventured  the  tip  of  a  finger 


THE  PROMISE  213 

on  his  outstretched  hand.  "  Please,  not  a  word ! 
For  you  're  right.  And  I  must  learn  to  be  worthy 
of  father.  You  're  working  very  hard.  Your  face 
shows  it.  Perhaps  it 's  this  weather.  Will  the 
work  be  easier  in  time  ?  " 

"  What  —  what  makes  me  look  tired  may  grow 
easier  —  in  time.  When  is  Adrien  coming  home  ? 
I  'm  thinking  of  taking  him  into  the  office  this 
summer.  He  will  need  work,  and  his  brains 
should  serve  me  better  than  his  fingers.  Is  he 
happier  than  he  was  at  first  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.     I  don't  hear  from  Adrien." 

"  I  will  ask  his  father  about  him."  Mr.  Proc 
tor  looked  away  at  the  treetops,  and  hunted  for 
another  conversational  bridge  to  safe  territory ; 
his  pulse  was  beating  hard  from  the  last  struggle. 
Then  an  intimation  of  what  Katherine's  words 
might  mean  came  over  him,  and  prudence  yielded 
the  right  of  way.  "  Miss  Katherine,  has  anything 
happened  —  anything  unpleasant  ?  You  say  that 
Adrien  does  n't  write.  Have  Ferdinante  and  Liv 
ingstone  been  meddling  ?  If  they  have  "  — 

"But  they  haven't."  A  sunbeam  dropped 
through  the  leaves  to  show  the  girl's  eyes  wet, 
though  her  mouth  was  smiling.  "  You  can  lower 
your  lance.  There  's  no  battle  for  you  there,  Sir 
Knight." 

The  man  would  not  smile.  "  I  am  permitted  to 
fight  only  your  father's  battles  ?  " 

"But  the  battle  is  over.  I  would  like  to  ex 
plain.  You  remember  that  Ferdinante  would  n't 
speak  to  me  ?  She  came  to  me  in  the  winter  after 


214  THE  LEGATEE 

you  went  away.  It  was  nearly  dark,  a  cold,  snowy 
night,  and  she  stood  outside  my  window.  You  can 
hardly  imagine  how  lonely  these  woods  can  look  in 
a  winter  twilight.  She  had  been  crying ;  Adrien 
had  not  written.  And  she  talked  to  me.  She  had 
never  done  that  before,  and  she  taught  me  a  great 
many  things.  I  had  been  very  selfish  ;  I  had  taken 
everything  that  came  to  me  as  a  matter  of  course, 
and  never  thought  whom  I  might  be  robbing.  She 
felt  that  I  had  made  Adrien  discontented,  and  that 
I  had  even  taken  Karen's  friendship  from  her. 
She  did  not  understand  —  about  Karen.  But  she 
has  had  very  little  from  life,  and  it  seemed  to  her 
that  I  had  had  everything.  So  I  told  her,  at  last, 
that  I  wouldn't  write  to  Adrien  any  more." 

"  But  there  are  two  sides.  Don't  you  owe 
Adrien  consideration  ?  " 

She  looked  grave.  "  I  tried  to  think  that  out. 
But  in  the  end  the  matter  seemed  to  rest  between 
Ferdinante  and  me.  I  could  n't  do  anything  else. 
Ferdinante  has  been  lonely  all  her  life.  I've 
learned  this  winter  what  it  means  to  be  lonely." 

"And  you  have  been  alone  all  these  winter 
months !  Why  did  I  take  you  at  your  word  in 
January !  I  should  have  stayed  in  spite  of  you. 
Even  one  friend  —  and  you  let  me  call  myself  that 
—  would  have  helped." 

"  No,  no  !  It  would  have  been  madness  for  you 
to  come  back."  Her  tone  gave  combat,  even 
though  the  possibility  was  past.  "  It  would  have 
put  you  in  the  wrong  with  your  men  if  you  had 
tried  to  fight  our  battles.  Then  you  have  work  to 


THE  PROMISE  215 

do  out  in  the  world.  All  this  will  pass.  And 
I  'm  not  lonely  now." 

He  looked  at  her.  No,  she  was  not  lonely. 
Her  eyes  were  merry  and  wholly  fearless.  And 
as  he  searched  her  yet  again,  he  saw  that  this  was 
not  the  girl  whose  tears  had  haunted  him  since 
January.  There  had  been  a  moment  then  when 
his  hand  might  have  helped  her ;  now  she  held 
her  footing  bravely.  The  gentle  philosophy  of 
the  father  had  become  courage  in  the  daughter. 

He  left  her  at  her  father's  gate,  with  the  convic 
tion  that  the  moment  that  might  have  been  his  he 
had  let  slip  by ;  but  even  as  he  turned,  her  voice 
stopped  him. 

"  Mr.  Proctor,"  —  the  name  wavered,  —  "I  was 
unjust  to  you  long  ago.  Have  you  forgiven  it? 
I  've  often  "  — 

She  was  at  his  side,  and  his  breath  came  hard. 
He  had  said  good-by  to  a  serene-eyed  woman; 
here  stood  the  impetuous  child  of  his  memory. 
What  alchemy  wrought  this  ? 

"  But  the  men  don't  understand  you  yet,"  she 
dashed  on.  "  They  think  " —  a  frown  of  embar 
rassment  corrected  her  blush  —  "  they  think  —  as 
I  did.  I  know  now  that  I  was  wrong.  It 's  a 
strange  summer.  No  one  can  tell  what  it  may 
bring.  Have  you  forgiven  me  ?  " 

Her  face,  wistful,  challenging,  looked  to  him  for 
answer ;  its  very  trustfulness  robbed  him  yet 
again  of  words.  He  took  her  hand,  and  raised  it 
to  his  lips.  "  To  thank  you,"  he  gravely  said ;  his 
air  made  the  observance  dignified  and  fitting. 


216  THE  LEGATEE 

"  You  were  not  wrong.  I  was  —  Yes,  let  me 
say  it !  Well,  never  mind.  It  is  a  strange  sum 
mer.  Whatever  it  brings,  you  Ve  —  I  hope  that 
it  may  bring  you  happiness,  Miss  Katherine." 


CHAPTER  XXII 

ON  THE  LIGHTHOUSE  TRAIL 

KATHERINE'S  remark  that  it  was  a  strange  sum 
mer  was  the  echo  of  what  was  on  every  tongue. 
For  July,  that  only  the  year  before  had  dowered 
the  passing  summer  with  a  coronal  of  beauty, 
came  now  with  heat  that  baked  the  ground.  The 
showers  that  fell  occasionally,  to  save  the  earth 
from  madness,  were  too  brief  to  make  impression 
on  the  highways,  and  dust  hung  like  smoke  above 
the  forest.  Near  the  settlements  the  earth  was 
tinder,  and  even  the  morasses  of  the  tamarack 
swamps  showed  spots  of  powdered  soil. 

Life  drooped  under  the  heat.  The  sun  brought 
no  healthful  languor  in  its  shining ;  it  carried  fever 
and  unrest.  Mr.  Proctor,  forcing  his  way  dog 
gedly  through  the  barrier  of  days  that  separated 
nim  from  October  and  Philip's  return,  felt,  as  he 
watched  his  men,  that  this  was  not  the  time  for 
him  to  try  to  reach  them  by  speech  or  deed.  If 
he  could  ignore  their  sullen  impertinences  a  few 
weeks  longer,  the  weather  must  change.  Then  he 
could  act.  Now  his  own  brain  felt  sluggish,  inert. 
How  must  his  men  feel  who  lifted  logs  eleven 
hours  a  day  ? 

For  himself  the  hours  were  monotonously  toil- 


218  THE  LEGATEE 

some.  He  went  little  to  the  house  on  the  bluff, 
for  he  hated  his  half  measures  with  Katherine. 
He  could  not  be  friend,  and  he  must  not  be  lover ; 
the  compromise  that  had  served  him  at  their  last 
meeting  seemed  mean  in  his  own  eyes. 

But  the  doctor  came  to  him.  After  one  sugges 
tion  that  Mr.  Proctor's  visits  were  welcome  at  all 
times,  Dr.  Edmister  accepted  the  situation  in 
silence  that  showed  that  he  was  drawing  deduc 
tions  of  his  own.  Yet  never  had  he  seemed  to 
find  Mr.  Proctor's  friendship  more  essential. 

"  Have  you  seen  Adrien  Lauzeone  since  his 
return  ?  "  he  asked  one  day. 

Mr.  Proctor  laughed.     "Yes." 

The  doctor  looked  annoyed.  "  It 's  hardly  a 
laughing  matter,  Proctor.  The  boy  's  a  travesty. 
He  's  talking  communism  in  the  same  breath  with 
aristocracy  of  intellect.  His  self-love  must  have 
been  cruelly  torn  at  Madison  to  send  him  on  this 
tangent.  He 's  adopted  the  oldest  clothes  —  yes, 
and  the  oldest  manners.  His  vocabulary  with  the 
men  is  fairly  primeval." 

"  I  should  explain  my  laugh  ;  it  was  more  at 
myself  than  at  Adrien.  I  offered  to  take  him  into 
the  office,  and  he  gave  me  a  comprehensive  state 
ment  of  what  he  thought  of  any  one  who  would 
enter  my  service." 

"  What  does  it  all  mean,  Proctor  ?  " 

Proctor  hesitated.  "  He  gave  a  variety  of  rea 
sons,  —  economic  and  —  feminine." 

Dr.  Edmister  frowned,  then  smiled  as  suddenly. 
"  I  heard  something  of  that  the  other  day.  I 


ON  THE  LIGHTHOUSE  TRAIL  219 

should  have  been  as  well  pleased  if  you  had  n't 
stumbled  on  it." 

"  I  did  n't  stumble.  I  stood  —  and  took  it  as 
a  broadside.  I  wonder  just  what  you  heard,  if  you 
are  willing  to  tell  me." 

The  doctor  cleared  his  throat  as  if  he  disliked 
his  task.  "  Oh,  I  heard  what  I  suppose  you  call 
the  feminine  side.  It  was  Yngve  who  was  spokes 
man,  —  the  men  were  in  front  of  the  store,  —  but 
Adrien  prompted.  He  said  —  supply  your  own 
details,  Proctor  —  that  your  attentions  to  Karen 
Torstenson  had  been  somewhat  pronounced ;  that 
you  dropped  "  — 

"  The  cub !  To  drag  the  girl  in !  "  Mr.  Proc 
tor's  eyes  met  the  doctor's.  The  smile  that  grew 
between  the  men  was  grave,  but  full  of  confidence 
and  understanding.  "  I  suppose  that  I  did  make 
a  mistake.  I  admired  Miss  Karen,  and  I  did  n't 
understand  village  conventions.  It 's  somewhat 
absurd,  though,  that  Yngve  did  n't  take  the  other 
side,  and  show  me  as  a  blighted  being.  This  view 
may  flatter  my  vanity,  but  it  perplexes  me  —  re 
membering  the  facts  of  the  case." 

"The  facts  of  the  case  never  concern  Yngve. 
But  this  idea  is  too  complex  to  be  his  ;  it  must  be 
Adrien's.  It's  interesting  to  see" — the  doctor 
gave  himself  over  to  philosophical  enjoyment  — 
"  how  that  superstition  persists,  —  the  inherent 
wickedness  of  the  men  of  the  town;  the  primal 
integrity  of  the  men  of  the  country.  It 's  an  arti 
cle  of  faith.  Adrien  played  a  strong  card,  even  if 
he  had  no  facts." 


220  THE  LEGATEE 

"  It  moved  the  men  ?  " 

"Apparently.  I  hope  this  story  won't  reach 
Karen.  Livingstone  is  growing  too  much  of  a 
mystic  to  be  a  very  practical  protection." 

"  Livingstone  seems  to  intend  to  stay  here  this 
summer." 

"  Yes.  I  found  him  praying  in  the  woods  the 
other  day.  I  did  n't  like  his  eyes.  It  will  be 
visions  next.  He  'd  better  go  back  to  organizing 
reform  clubs.  I  wish  that  Livingstone  were  not 
just  what  he  is.  A  little  broader  outlook,  and  he 
could  accomplish  the  good  that  I  'm  convinced  he 
has  at  heart.  It  is  a  fair  far  country  of  piety  and 
brotherhood  that  he  has  in  mind.  But  he  has  lost 
his  way.  No  matter  if  he  has  made  mischief; 
his  goal  is  to  him  a  high  conception." 

"  With  Dr.  Griggs  as  the  flower  of  his  concep 
tion,"  Mr.  Proctor  said  testily.  "My  men  are 
taking  to  letter-writing  again,  doctor.  I  found 
this  notice  on  my  door  yesterday." 

Dr.  Edmister  took  the  soiled  paper  gingerly. 
"  It 's  all  so  childish  —  and  yet  so  tragic  !  "  His 
voice  had  a  tired  fall  that  was  new.  "  It 's  nearly 
a  year  since  Heinrich  brought  you  the  other  paper, 
is  n't  it  ?  At  this  rate  they  're  not  of  much  im 
portance." 

"Their  importance  lies  just  in  that.  If  they 
were  not  so  scattering  I  could  take  action.  Well, 
is  it  too  warm  for  chess  ?  I  'm  in  the  humor  for  a 
game." 

And  this  was  as  close  to  vital  matters  as  their 
talk  ever  came.  There  was  confidence  between 


ON  THE  LIGHTHOUSE  TRAIL  221 

them,  but  not  expression.  It  was  not  alone  that 
much  that  was  in  their  minds  was  hard  to  bring  to 
speech ;  there  was  another  feeling  —  a  sense  of  ten 
sion  that  Katherine  had  voiced  when  she  said  that 
no  one  could  tell  what  the  summer  might  bring. 
The  impending  weighed  on  tongue  as  well  as 
spirit. 

It  was  but  little  after  daybreak  the  next  morn 
ing  when  Mr.  Proctor  started  for  the  lighthouse 
trail.  He  was  going  for  the  plunge  which  helped 
him  through  the  day,  when,  at  a  bend  of  the  path, 
he  caught  the  gleam  of  a  paper  nailed  to  a  hem 
lock.  He  walked  over  and  tore  it  down  with  em 
phasis.  It  was  more  scurrilous  than  its  predeces 
sors,  and  for  a  moment  his  anger  shook  his  poise. 
The  position  of  the  notice  displayed  a  knowledge 
of  his  movements  that  was  in  itself  an  affront,  for 
he  told  no  one  of  his  morning  walk,  and  took  it 
at  an  hour  when  the  birds  were  scarce  astir.  He 
reread  the  blurred  and  ill-spelled  lines,  and  his 
anger  grew.  The  thought  came  that  the  wording 
was  forced  ;  that  the  errors  were  such  as  would 
suggest  themselves  by  euphony  to  one  trying  to 
write  incorrectly.  If  this  were  so,  the  writer  was 
not  far  to  find.  His  foot  pressed  the  ground  hard 
at  the  suggestion. 

In  his  absorption  he  was  slow  in  realizing  that 
the  ground  under  his  right  foot  was  curiously  re- 
sistent.  When  he  did,  he  stooped  to  investigate. 
He  was  standing  on  an  iron  belaying-pin  of  unusual 
size,  and  as  he  picked  it  up,  fresh  indignation  col 
ored  his  face.  The  pin  was  a  relic  of  Heinrich's 


222  THE  LEGATEE 

sailor  days,  and  belonged,  as  every  child  in  the  vil 
lage  knew,  in  the  lightkeeper's  mackinaw.  It  lay 
at  the  foot  of  the  tree,  as  if  it  had  been  used  in 
tacking  the  notice,  and  had  been  dropped  and  for 
gotten,  but  its  position  was  ostentatiously  careless. 
It  courted  inquiry,  and  was  so  palpably  a  ruse  that 
Mr.  Proctor  wondered  if  after  all  these  placards 
might  be  the  work  of  childish  hands.  But  the 
warning  had  been  posted  far  above  a  child's  grasp, 
and  the  venom  of  its  wording  was  unmistakably 
mature. 

He  tore  the  paper,  and  sowed  it  on  the  lake,  but 
the  belaying-pin  he  replaced.  At  last  he  had,  if 
not  a  clue,  an  opportunity  to  work  toward  one. 

He  left  his  house  that  evening  as  soon  as  he  had 
finished  supper,  and  sauntered  through  the  village. 
He  made  an  errand  at  the  post  office,  and  stopped 
to  chat  with  Cole,  whom  he  found  standing  in 
front.  Ole  Torstenson  was  smoking  on  the  steps 
of  the  store,  and,  joining  him,  he  questioned  about 
the  last  order  of  supplies  for  the  boarding-house ; 
then  he  walked  slowly  to  the  other  end  of  the  vil 
lage,  and  climbed  the  hill  leading  to  the  doctor's. 
All  the  village  was  astir  in  the  long  twilight,  and 
he  had  been  seen  by  fifty  or  more  people.  He 
stopped  a  few  rods  short  of  the  end  of  the  trail, 
and  seating  himself,  waited  for  darkness.  His 
destination  was  the  lighthouse,  but  should  he  be 
seen  his  plan  would  go  for  naught. 

No  path  followed  the  shore  line  back  of  the  vil 
lage,  and  Mr.  Proctor  climbed  over  brush  and 
fallen  timber  till  the  half  circle  of  the  settlement 


ON  THE  LIGHTHOUSE   TRAIL  223 

was  passed,  and  he  could  venture  into  the  open. 
The  lighthouse  trail,  at  the  other  horn  of  the  cres 
cent,  he  took  boldly.  He  asked  nothing  better 
than  to  meet  some  one  there,  for  Heinrich  had  no 
evening  visitors,  and  a  straggler  upon  that  lonely 
way  could  have  but  one  errand.  But  he  reached 
the  lighthouse,  hearing  nothing  but  his  own  foot 
steps  and  the  hushed  breathing  of  wild  things  that 
crept  from  his  presence  as  he  passed. 

Heinrich  met  him  with  amazement  and  pleasure, 
but  Bertha  accepted  his  coming,  as  she  accepted 
all  good  things,  as  hers  by  right,  and  did  not 
trouble  her  enjoyment  with  question  of  his  rea 
sons.  The  room,  exquisite  in  its  cleanliness, 
looked  radiant  of  home.  Heinrich  was  mending 
a  sail,  Bertha  knitting ;  and  their  faces  showed 
peace  that  the  tumultuous  village  did  not  share. 
The  Bible,  which  was  never  far  from  Bertha's  side, 
lay  open  on  the  kitchen  table.  The  lame  girl  had 
yet  to  learn  the  meaning  of  loneliness. 

Mr.  Proctor  seated  himself  with  a  sigh ;  he  en 
joyed  the  luxury  of  admitting  that  he  was  tired. 

"  I  came  for  you  to  play  for  me,"  he  said,  and 
as  Heinrich's  violin  whispered  through  the  silence, 
the  day's  perplexities  seemed  of  fading  moment. 
The  hour  in  the  dim  room  was  a  gracious  inter 
lude. 

The  moon  was  low  and  the  path  black  in  shadow 
as  he  walked  homeward  ;  so  black  that  it  was  un 
necessary  to  conceal  himself  when  he  reached  the 
hemlock  tree.  He  found  a  log  that  offered  dubi 
ous  resting-place,  and  prepared  to  wait.  If  he 


224  THE  LEGATEE 

knew  aught  of  human  nature,  the  belay  ing-pin 
would  bring  at  least  one  visitor  before  the  night 
was  over.  He  had  thought  that  his  ostentatious 
climb  to  the  doctor's  bluff  would  bring  the  visit 
early  in  the  evening,  but  the  hours  passed,  and 
with  his  thoughts  for  company,  he  watched  the 
moon  swing  above  the  treetops. 

It  was  difficult  not  to  be  introspective,  alone 
with  the  night  and  the  shadows,  and  after  a  losing 
struggle  he  abandoned  himself  to  thoughts  that 
during  waking  hours  he  fought  away  by  labor. 
The  procession  of  his  days  in  Wilsonport  walked 
before  him,  each  with  its  memory.  He  had  not 
stopped  before  to  study  the  pattern  of  his  life,  and 
now  he  looked  at  its  varying  threads  with  care  to 
weigh  their  values.  He  counted  the  year's  gains 
and  losses ;  its  petty  annoyances ;  its  trivialities 
that  were  tragedies  ;  yes,  and  its  rewards  —  em 
phatically,  its  rewards. 

And  if,  as  he  suspected,  he  were  soon  to  meet 
Adrien,  how  should  he  deal  with  him  ?  His  pity 
for  the  lad  had  an  undercurrent  which  Dr.  Edmis- 
ter  had  failed  to  understand.  For  with  Adrien, 
the  feminine  side  of  Mr.  Proctor's  misdeeds  had 
not  concerned  Karen  alone.  The  wall  which  the 
lad  had  found  between  Katherine  and  himself  was, 
he  said  without  scruple,  of  Mr.  Proctor's  building. 
Here  was  cause  for  enmity  which  might  lead  to 
open  action.  Was  Adrien  to  prove  the  burning- 
glass  that  should  focus  the  prevailing  discontent  ? 
But  why  should  Adrien  try  to  implicate  Heinrich  ? 
Question  for  question  ! 


ON  THE  LIGHTHOUSE  TRAIL  225 

And  for  Dr.  Edmister  —  what  ?  The  thought 
was  a  knife  for  Mr.  Proctor.  Whatever  crash 
was  coming,  he  himself  was  prepared,  but  for  the 
doctor  —  this  man  of  indomitable  quiet  faith  in 
human  goodness  —  the  way  looked  black. 

And  Katherine —  He  turned  with  sudden 
passion  and  gripped  the  log.  The  consciousness 
of  this  girl  was  always  the  background  of  his 
hours,  but  at  this  moment  he  could  not  hold  her 
to  the  gray  neutrality  of  his  half  thought.  His 
fancy  rioted,  for  a  space,  with  a  picture  of  what 
life  would  mean  with  her  beside  him,  her  love 
ready  to  meet  his  need  through  the  long  days. 
But  even  this  vision  had  its  sting.  He  had  been 
sure  of  late  that  it  would  never  be  more  than  a 
vision.  Since  that  last  day  when  his  talk  with 
her  had  been  largely  blanks  and  dashes,  he  had 
had  intuitive  knowledge  that  each  hour  was  push 
ing  him  further  from  her  possible  regard.  How 
could  she  care  for  him?  She  had  seen,  first,  a 
half-cynical  critic  who  played  and  patronized,  then 
a  hard-working  elderly  man  who  talked  in  enig 
mas.  He  set  his  teeth  at  these  pictures  of  him 
self  ;  yet  he  felt  them  to  be  true. 

And  then  came  pictures  of  Katherine  to  tanta 
lize  him  —  random  memories  that  pricked,  yet  drew 
him  on.  It  was  a  momentous  feeling  that  could 
so  chain  a  man  of  his  age,  and  he  retraced  its 
growth  in  himself  almost  with  awe.  He  recalled 
the  child  who  had  piqued  and  amused  him ;  then 
his  fancy  loitered  with  the  Katherine  of  the  Janu 
ary  holiday  —  the  half -awakened  girl  with  her 


226  THE  LEGATEE 

moods  of  tears  and  laughter.  The  Katherine 
whom  he  knew  now  was  none  of  these,  but  a 
woman,  poised  and  sunny  eyed.  He  had  neglected 
his  opportunities  when  he  had  let  the  child  and 
girl  slip  by. 

And  what  if  Philip's  interest  in  Katherine  had 
been,  after  all,  of  the  moment  —  regretted  as  his 
life  flowed  back  in  the  channels  that  it  had  known  ? 
The  question  was  best  not  asked.  It  was  a  relief 
that  a  faint  sound  from  down  the  trail  made  him 
drop  all  thought,  to  listen. 

Soon  the  sound  became  definite ;  steps  were 
approaching.  One  person,  or  two  ?  Two,  it 
seemed  at  first ;  but  the  steps  were  cautious  and 
there  were  no  voices.  The  footfalls  grew  more 
distinct.  Yes,  there  were  two.  This  was  unex 
pected,  but  Mr.  Proctor  tingled  with  anticipation. 
Let  them  come.  He  examined  his  muscles  un 
consciously;  his  fingers  slipped  away  from  them 
as  if  he  had  grasped  steel. 

A  hoot-owl  stirred  sleepily,  raised  a  wondering 
question  of  the  night,  and  the  steps  halted.  They 
were  at  the  turn  of  the  trail ;  but  they  waited  — 
listening.  There  was  a  stout  stick  at  Mr.  Proctor's 
side.  The  symmetrical  tapering  of  its  knobby 
length  recommended  it  to  his  critic's  eye,  and  his 
hand  weighed  it  with  appreciation.  The  moon 
had  found  an  opening  in  the  trail's  green  canopy, 
so  that  hemlock  and  path  were  lighted,  while  the 
man  waited  in  the  shadow. 

The  steps  came  on  again  —  but  imagination  had 
played  tricks.  There  was  but  one  person,  after 


ON  THE  LIGHTHOUSE  TRAIL  227 

all,  and  the  figure  that  crept  to  the  foot  of  the  tree 
and  dug  in  the  earth  at  its  base  looked  so  small 
and  unprotected  that  Mr.  Proctor  dropped  his  arm, 
with  a  gesture  that  was  almost  disappointment. 

He  waited  till  the  belaying-pin,  which  he  knew 
was  the  object  of  the  search,  was  found,  then 
sprung  upon  the  groping  figure,  pinioning  its 
arms. 

"  Well,  Yngve,"  he  said  conversationally, 
"  you  've  kept  me  waiting  some  time.  I  '11  take 
this  letter  in  person,  if  you  please.  So  you  Ve 
been  my  correspondent.  I  've  done  you  an  in 
justice.  I  had  n't  thought  you  capable  of  so  sus 
tained  an  effort." 

The  boy  writhed  with  imprecations,  but  he  could 
as  well  have  beaten  his  strength  against  stone. 

"  Cultivate  repose,"  the  mocking  voice  went  on. 
"  You  '11  find  it  useful  socially  —  commend  that 
precept  to  your  friend  Adrien.  Your  manner  at 
this  moment  is  too  —  galvanic." 

The  boy  flung  the  belaying-pin  backwards  at 
his  tormentor,  but  his  arms  were  helpless,  and  the 
missile  fell  harmless  to  the  ground. 

"  You  hound  !  "  the  man  dropped  his  mockery, 
and  his  voice  was  a  lash,  "pick  that  up  again! 
That 's  a  little  token  that  you  're  to  carry  to  Hem- 
rich  in  person,  and  I  '11  go  with  you  to  see  that  you 
do  it  gracefully.  Pick  it  up,  I  say !  " 

He  pushed  the  lad  forward,  and  was  bending 
with  him,  keeping  a  grasp  upon  the  slender  arms, 
when  he  heard  a  new  sound  behind  him.  His  ear 
registered  the  warning  more  quickly  than  his 


228  THE  LEGATEE 

brain,  but  instinct  taught  him  to  dodge,  and  the 
blow  that  beat  the  sky  to  blood  and  the  earth  to 
nothingness  lost  half  its  force. 

He  had  watched  a  star  for  what  seemed  a  long 
time.  He  tried  to  look  away,  and  sleep  again,  but 
the  star  irritated  with  its  persistent  twinkle,  and 
he  cried  querulously  for  some  one  to  pull  down 
the  shades.  His  head  ached,  and  he  was  cold  ; 
his  bed,  too,  was  hard,  and  as  he  tried  to  turn 
upon  it  his  groping  hand  struck  iron.  The  cold 
touch  formed  a  link  with  memory.  He  kept  his 
grasp  upon  the  metal,  struggling  for  mind  and 
reason,  and,  little  by  little,  he  pieced  fragmentary 
consciousness  from  out  the  chaos  of  his  pain. 

He  had  been  struck  on  the  head  from  behind  — 
memory  came  in  flashes,  interspersed  with  inter 
vals  when  he  was  dragged  through  space  in  the 
trail  of  a  blazing  star  whose  light  seared  his  aching 
eyes  until  he  cried  for  mercy.  He  tried  to  move, 
but  a  gush  of  warm  blood  upon  his  face  left  him 
sick  and  trembling,  and  he  fell  back,  to  struggle 
again  with  the  mind  that  would  not  do  his  bidding. 

How  time  passed  he  did  not  know,  but  the 
moisture  of  the  night  was  merciful,  and  his  brain 
cleared  sufficiently  to  give  him  one  thought  that 
lie  could  hold:  he  must  go  to  Heinrich.  The 
going  would  involve  calculation,  and  he  tried  to 
think  it  out,  but  his  mind  would  hold  but  the  one 
idea :  he  must  go.  He  found  his  feet  after  some 
stumbling,  and  clenched  the  belaying-pin,  to  think 
which  way  to  start.  Yes,  the  trail  led  upward ; 


ON  THE  LIGHTHOUSE  TRAIL  229 

he  wiped  the  blood  from  his  eyes,  and  turned  to 
ward  the  lighthouse. 

In  after  time  he  lived  fragments  of  that  walk  in 
his  dreams.  Trees  struck  at  him  with  blows  that 
made  his  wound  bleed  afresh ;  serpents,  guised  as 
vines,  twined  about  his  feet,  and  he  fell  shrinking 
from  their  hisses.  He  must  have  left  the  path 
many  times,  but  instinct  served  where  reason  failed, 
and  at  last  his  investigating  fingers  met  the  rough 
wall  of  the  lighthouse,  and  he  gathered  his 
strength  for  a  call. 

And  then  came  nothingness,  broken,  after  a3ons 
of  time,  by  a  stinging  in  his  throat  that  brought 
him  back  through  space  to  puzzled  study  of  a  face 
above  him.  It  was  Heinrich's  face,  he  decided. 
The  whiskey  that  was  being  forced  between  his 
lips  brought  consciousness  with  a  rush,  and  he  felt 
of  the  couch  beneath  him,  with  an  attempt  at  a 
smile.  Heinrich  saw  the  smile,  and  his  hand 
shook. 

"You're  better,  sir?" 

"  Apparently."  Mr.  Proctor  prolonged  the  syl 
lables  as  if  to  assure  himself  of  the  fact.  The 
alcohol  was  doing  its  work,  and  the  situation 
seemed  clearer.  He  felt  oddly  cheerful. 

Heinrich  was  sponging  the  blood  away,  and  the 
cold  water  supplied  still  further  Mr.  Proctor's 
missing  links  of  memory. 

"  Where  did  you  find  me  ? "  he  questioned, 
"  and  what  time  is  it  ?  " 

"  It 's  near  daylight,  sir.  Can  I  leave  you  with 
Bertha,  do  you  think,  and  go  for  the  doctor  ?  " 


230  THE  LEGATEE 

Mr.  Proctor  made  a  futile  effort  to  examine  his 
head.  "  Pretty  well  scalped,  am  I  ?  "  Heinrich's 
face  answered  him,  and  he  debated  the  matter. 
"  If  you  go  for  the  doctor  now,  all  the  village  will 
know.  You  ought  to  be  something  of  a  surgeon, 
Heinrich.  Can't  you  wash  this  cut,  and  tie  it  up  ? 
The  doctor  can  sew  me  together  later." 

"  But  it  will  hurt,  sir." 

"  That  means  that  you  know  how  to  do  it. 
Then  the  quicker,  the  better.  Don't  go  for  the 
doctor  until  I  ask  it,  and  never  mind  the  pain." 

But  the  pain  was  in  no  mind  to  be  ignored,  and 
when  Mr.  Proctor  was  bandaged  and  at  rest,  he 
had  the  wrathful  consciousness  that  more  lapses 
of  memory  were  to  be  accounted  for. 

"  Fainted,  did  I  ?  H'm  !  Don't,  Heinrich  !  " 
Mr.  Proctor's  own  voice  was  somewhat  uncertain. 
"I 'mall  right." 

"But  who  did  it?" 

"  It  was  this  way,"  and  Mr.  Proctor  reviewed  the 
story  haltingly.  "  It  would  n't  have  happened," 
he  concluded,  "  if  I  'd  had  ordinary  common  sense. 
When  Yngve  came  in  sight  alone,  I  did  n't  stop 
to  remember  that  rogues  hunt  in  couples." 

"  But  to  hit  you  this  way,  sir !  Who  do  you 
think  it  was  ?  " 

"  I  don't  know.  Of  course  I  've  suspicions.  I 
don't  think  the  attack  was  deliberate.  The  boy 
probably  lost  his  head  with  fright.  That  is,  if  it 
was  a  boy." 

"  But  why  "  — 

"  They  had  tried  to  make  me  think  that  you 


ON  THE  LIGHTHOUSE   TRAIL  231 

were  putting  up  these  papers,  Heinrich.  They 
dropped  your  belaying-pin  where  I  would  see  it. 
They  knew  it  would  go  hard  with  them  if  I  caught 
them." 

Heinrich  looked  curiously  impassive.  The  at 
tempt  on  his  honor  moved  him  less  than  the  sight 
of  the  cut  on  Mr.  Proctor's  head. 

"  Yngve  does  n't  like  me,"  he  said.  "  He  took 
the  pin  —  but  some  one  else  told  him.  Yngve 
talks  a  lot,  but  he  would  not  hit  you.  He  is  afraid 
—  except  to  talk." 

Mr.  Proctor  tried  to  nod  his  bandaged  crown, 
and  failed.  "  But  why  should  they  wish  to  injure 
you  with  me  ?  " 

Heinrich  did  not  answer  at  once.  His  grave 
eyes  studied  the  young  man  with  almost  fatherly 
understanding. 

"I  am  a  friend  to  Dr.  Edrnister,"  he  said  at 
length. 

Proctor  closed  his  eyes  wearily.     "  I  see." 

"  There  is  more,  sir,"  Heinrich  went  on,  "  about 
Yngve.  It  is  since  I  knocked  him  down  at  the 
feed  loft.  The  men  laughed  at  him,  because  I 
was  old,  and  could  knock  him  down." 

A  numbing  longing  for  sleep  contended  with 
Mr.  Proctor's  interest.  "  This  must  n't  be  known, 
if  we  can  cover  it,"  he  said,  with  effort  to  make  the 
world  of  consequence  once  more.  "  But  I  can't  go 
home  —  that 's  plain.  Heinrich,  I  '11  have  to  ask 
you  to  go  to  the  village.  You  can  tell  Jessie  that 
I  stayed  at  the  lighthouse  all  night.  If  she  asks 
questions,  say  that  I  talked  of  using  your  boat  to 


232  THE  LEGATEE 

go  out  fishing  —  that 's  a  small  enough  lie  to  be 
moral  —  and  tell  Cole  the  same.  I  don't  think  that 
he  '11  believe  it,  but  it  may  stop  some  talking.  Yes, 
and  tell  Cole  to  come  up  here  this  afternoon,  at 
three  o'clock,  say." 

Heinrich  hesitated.     "  The  doctor  ?  " 

"  Don't  go  for  the  doctor  till  later.  Ask  him  to 
keep  his  medicine  case  out  of  sight  when  he  comes 
through  the  village.  He  '11  understand  that  I  've 
a  good  reason  for  all  this  secrecy.  I  hope  that 
Yngve  and  his  choleric  friend  will  hold  their 
tongues.  And  now  I  'm  going  to  sleep." 

But  he  was  not  to  sleep  until  Heinrich  had 
prepared  bed  and  breakfast  —  nor  until  a  question 
had  been  asked. 

"  Heinrich,''  the  man  looked  away  as  he  spoke, 
" 1  know  that  I  was  pretty  well  shaken  up  even 
after  you  found  me.  I  've  an  impression  that  I 
did  some  talking.  Can  you  tell  me  what  I  said  ? 
Did  I  mention  names  ?  —  call  any  one  ?  " 

The  sailor  grew  more  ruddy  than  the  wind  had 
painted  him,  and  looked  reserved. 

"  Go  on,"  Mr.  Proctor  pressed.  "  I  would  rather 
have  the  truth." 

Heinrich  swallowed  hard.  "  You  called  Kath- 
erine  Edmister.  You  thought  —  that "  — 

"  I  thought  that  she  was  hurting  me,"  Mr.  Proc 
tor  quietly  supplied.  "  I  remember  a  little  about 
it."  He  turned  his  head  painfully,  and  looked  out 
at  the  summer  dawn.  "  That 's  all  there  is  to  it, 
Heinrich  —  the  wanderings  of  a  sick  man.  You  '11 
forget  it,  if  I  ask  it,  I  know." 


ON  THE  LIGHTHOUSE  TRAIL  233 

"  Yes,  sir,"  Heinrich  said  obediently.  He  walked 
as  far  as  the  door,  then  turned  to  look  at  the  figure 
on  the  bed  ;  its  look  of  weary  laxity  deepened  his 
eyes  to  sudden  resolve.  "  Mr.  Proctor,"  he  walked 
back  to  the  bed,  and  his  voice  was  hushed,  "  if 
that 's  true  —  what  you  talked  about  —  why,  God 
bless  you,  sir,  and  good  luck  !  She  's  a  little  thing, 
but  so  loving  !  Bertha  can  tell  you.  You  've  both 
of  you  been  good  to  Bertha,  and  —  you  don't  mind 
—  God  bless  you  !  " 

The  head  upon  the  pillow  turned  to  hide  its  tell 
tale  eyes.  "  But  it  is  n't  true,  Heinrich,  and  you 
are  to  forget.  But  —  thank  you.  Kemember,  it 
is  n't  true,  but  —  Take  care  of  her,  Heinrich,  if 
anything  happens  to  her  father  and  me." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

MR.   PROCTOR   SPEAKS 

DR.  EDMISTER'S  mind,  as  he  examined  Mr. 
Proctor,  hung  between  irritation  with  his  patient, 
and  admiration  of  Heinrich's  skill. 

"  Why  did  n't  you  call  me  at  once  ?  "  he  grum 
bled,  to  hide  the  strain  upon  his  throat.  His  for 
titude  was  tried.  If  the  blow  had  been  a  little  more 
to  the  side,  his  friend  at  this  moment  would  have 
been  —  what  or  where  ?  The  question  hurt  him. 
He  was  growing  old,  and  friends  were  dear.  He 
looked  at  this  one  with  a  sudden  yearning  to  tell 
him  so. 

Proctor  smiled.  "  I  suppose  that  Heinrich  has 
told  you  the  story  ?  " 

"  I  've  pieced  together  most  of  it,"  the  doctor 
said  absently,  his  mind  concerned  with  the  necessi 
ties  before  him.  "  Go  home  for  a  time,  Proctor, 
and  rest.  Get  out  of  this  atmosphere." 

The  young  man's  lips  closed  suggestively.  "  Not 
for  fifty  atmospheres." 

The  doctor  shrugged  his  shoulders. 

The  wound  was  dressed,  and  the  doctor  ready  to 
leave,  before  the  subject  came  up  again. 

"  You  say  that  you  won't  go  home,  Proctor  ?  " 
Dr.  Edmister  looked  at  his  patient  with  an  af- 


MR.   PROCTOR  SPEAKS  235 

fection  which  he  did  not  try  to  hide.  "  Then,  if 
you  're  determined  to  fight  it  out,  I  've  one  thing  to 
say.  Forgive  me  if  I  go  back.  I  asked  you  once  to 
wait.  I  now  withdraw  that  request.  One  moment 
—  do  not  answer  —  I  ask  no  confidences.  But  we 
are  fallen  on  evil  days,  and  I  wish  to  leave  your 
hands  free.  If  your  feeling  was  an  impulse  that  you 
have  since  outgrown,  do  not  regret  my  speaking, 
for  we  shall  be  where  we  were  before  —  yet  nearer." 

"The  roads  are  still  dusty,"—  Mr.  Proctor's 
smile  was  wan,  —  "  so  my  impulse  has  not  changed. 
I  dare  to  believe  that  it  never  will.  But  —  I  can't 
talk  of  it  this  morning,  doctor.  I  —  my  hands  are 
tied." 

"  Oh,  as  to  that "  —  the  doctor  interrupted. 
"  "Well,  I  must  go.  No  getting  up  till  supper 
time,  remember,  if  you  insist  on  going  home  to 
night." 

"  Just  a  moment !  Dr.  Edmister,  this  is  n't  the 
sort  of  thing  that  a  man  can  thank  another  for ; 
at  least,  I  can't  to-day,  If  I  seem  slow  to  act,  try 
to  believe  that  I've  strong  reasons.  But  never 
again  distrust  the  strength  of  my  impulse.  That 
remains." 

The  men  clasped  hands  in  silence.  "  I  'm  go 
ing  fishing,"  the  doctor  said  casually,  "  and  will 
look  in  again  before  supper  time.  Now  take  an 
other  nap." 

Cole  came  at  three  o'clock.  His  methodical 
step  was  at  curious  variance  with  his  bewildered 
eyes. 

"  I  've  sent  for   you   to   review   the  situation, 


236  THE  LEGATEE 

Cole."  Mr.  Proctor  began  at  once  on  the  heart 
of  the  question.  "You  know  the  story  of  this 
year.  We  won't  go  over  it.  It  has  come  to 
a  point  where  Dr.  Edmister  and  I  seem  to  be 
arrayed  against  the  village.  Even  you,  who  are 
conscientious,  do  not  seem  satisfied  in  my  employ 
ment.  Why  ?  " 

Cole  leaned  his  head  on  his  hand.  "  It  is  n't 
that  you  have  n't  been  a  good  man  to  me,  Mr. 
Proctor,"  —  he  groped  to  find  speech  for  his  rea 
sons,  —  "  but  the  Bible  teaches  us  that  righteous 
ness  can  have  no  fellowship  with  unrighteousness. 
I  don't  know.  I  pray  about  it.  But  if  I  take  your 
money  have  I  a  right  to  a  share  in  the  kingdom  ? 
Mr.  Proctor,  can't  you  come  with  us  ?  " 

Proctor  lay  silent.  "One  shuns  me  for  my 
birthplace,"  he  thought,  "  another  for  my  manners  ; 
this  man  for  my  morals  and  belief.  What  a  mask 
I  must  have  worn  that  I  should  have  reached  no 
one  !  Cole,"  he  said  aloud,  "  you  must  work  this 
out  with  your  own  conscience.  Perhaps  my  way  is 
not  so  far  from  yours,  after  all.  The  roads  have 
different  names,  but  the  goal  may  be  the  same. 
But  as  to  Dr.  Edmister  —  I  know  you  are  his  friend 
at  heart  —  what  turned  people  against  him  ?  " 

"  It 's  the  drink,  for  one  thing,"  Cole  hesitated. 
"  He  prescribes  liquor  sometimes.  Dr.  Griggs  "  — 

"  Yes,  yes.  But  the  drinking  men  are  against 
him,  too." 

"  He  's  so  thick  with  you  that  some  don't  like  it. 
Then  they  —  they  think  that  you  both  feel  your 
selves  too  good." 


MR.  PROCTOR  SPEAKS  237 

"  I  suppose  that 's  the  root  of  it  all."  Mr.  Proc 
tor  had  a  black  moment;  his  own  folly  seemed 
to  have  been  Dr.  Edmister's  undoing  as  well. 
"  About  these  anonymous  warnings,  Cole,  and  the 
meetings  in  the  feed  loft  ?  " 

"I  don't  know  much.  I  didn't  know  about 
the  warnings.  There  was  trouble  among  the  men 
when  your  uncle  was  alive.  You  see,  he  was  a 
Southerner  —  the  men  say  you  're  the  same,  Mr. 
Proctor." 

"  I  understand  that  side  of  it.  Yes,  a  secret 
society  was  already  in  existence  when  I  first  came. 
Dr.  Edmister  was  called  there  one  night,  and  I 
went  with  him.  Heinrich  had  had  trouble  with 
Yngve  Torstenson." 

Cole's  reserved  face  moved  to  a  show  of  amuse 
ment.  He  evidently,  Proctor  saw,  knew  the  story 
better  than  it  could  be  told  him. 

"  Do  you  know  why  Heinrich  hit  Yngve  ? " 
Cole  asked. 

"  No.  But  I  think  that  Heinrich  himself  will 
tell  me.  To  go  back  to  these  meetings.  Dr. 
Griggs  found  a  socialistic  society  already  formed, 
and  he  organized  a  temperance  club  and  united  the 
two.  Am  I  right?" 

Cole  looked  protest.  "  Dr.  Griggs  urged  us  to 
combine  temperance  with  labor,  and  fight  under 
one  banner."  He  fell  at  once  into  the  doctor's 
flowery  phraseology.  "  But  I  never  went  to  the 
labor  meetings,  Mr.  Proctor.  Dr.  Griggs  did  not 
advise  me  to  go." 

"  Dr.  Griggs  had  —  discretion.      In  regard  to 


238  THE  LEGATEE 

• 

your  own  attitude,  I  wish  that  there  had  been 
better  fellowship  between  us.  I  think,  had  we 
both  been  wiser,  there  might  have  been.  I  should 
ask  you  to  stay  with  me  now,  and  work  toward  a 
better  understanding,  if  it  were  not  that  I  look  for 
stormy  times.  As  it  is,  I  don't  want  to  influence 
you.  Don't  answer  me  now.  Think  it  over.  To 
morrow  morning  I  go  to  the  mill  and  talk  to  the 
men.  Then  you  can  tell  me  what  you  have  de 
cided." 

"  To-morrow  morning !  Will  you  be  well 
enough  ?  " 

"  It  must  be  to-morrow.  Stop  the  machinery  at 
ten,  and  call  the  men  upstairs.  I  '11  meet  them 
there.  I  don't  want  them  to  know  of  this  accident 
till  after  I've  seen  them.  If  they  hear  of  this 
they  will  be  on  the  defense,  and  I  '11  be  ten  times 
the  taskmaster  in  their  eyes.  So  keep  it  as  quiet 
as  you  can." 

"  But  you  've  no  idea  who  did  it  ?  " 

"  I  '11  have  a  better  idea  before  to-morrow 's 
over.  Well,  Cole,"  Mr.  Proctor  held  out  his 
hand,  "  if  you  decide  to  leave  me,  I  wish  you 
well  with  all  my  heart.  You  are  a  good  man." 

At  ten  the  next  morning  the  men  were  gathered 
in  the  mill,  and  their  faces  assured  Mr.  Proctor, 
as  he  stepped  before  them,  that  the  story  of  the 
lighthouse  trail  had  not  been  told. 

"  Sit  down,  all  of  you,"  he  said.  "  You  can  sit 
on  the  log  rollers,  there,  and  on  the  carriage.  I 
know  that  you  are  tired,  and  I  want  you  to  listen. 
Sit  down." 


MR.  PROCTOR  SPEAKS  239 

The  men  obeyed;  their  glances  were  confused 
and  troubled.  The  white-faced  man  addressing 
them  had  more  than  his  pallor,  and  the  suggestive 
bandages  around  his  head,  with  which  to  command 
their  surprised  obedience.  His  dominance,  with 
all  his  quiet,  was  assured.  Master  of  them  he 
might  be ;  master  of  himself  he  assuredly  ap 
peared. 

And  he  in  turn  saw  that  which  impressed  him. 
He  saw  the  slouch  of  limbs  so  wearied  that  they 
dropped,  flaccid  and  unresisting.  He  saw  greasy 
clothing  and  charcoal-blackened  faces.  Above  all, 
he  saw  the  poverty  of  thought  and  living  that  the 
vacant  eyes  expressed. 

"  Men,  I  have  called  you  together  to-day  "  —  he 
spoke  slowly,  and  stopped  to  choose  his  words  — 
"to  have  a  frank  talk.  We  have  not  been  on 
good  terms  since  I  came  here  a  year  and  a  half 
ago.  There  are  many  reasons  for  this,  and  we 
have  both  been  at  fault.  Let  us  look  at  the  situa 
tion  fairly.  To  begin  at  the  beginning,  I  came 
from  the  South ;  therefore  you  did  not  trust  me. 
You  were  rude  to  me  from  the  first,  not  on  my 
own  account,  but  because  of  my  birthplace.  That 
angered  me,  and  I  grew  impatient  of  you.  Then 
you  began  sending  me  these  notices,"  —  he  drew  a 
number  of  soiled  papers  from  his  pocket,  and  held 
them  before  him,  —  "  threats,  which  you  had  not 
the  power  to  carry  out,  against  my  life  and  pro 
perty.  To  crown  all,  night  before  last,  one  who 
has  been  of  your  number  struck  me  from  behind. 
Whether  he  represented  your  feeling  or  not,  I  do 


240  THE  LEGATEE 

not  know,  but  his  intention,  for  the  time,  was 
murder.  You  see,  do  you  not,  that  we  must  stop 
right  here,  and  come  to  an  understanding?  I 
know  that  the  trouble  lies  deeper  than  your  dis 
like  of  me  personally.  You  want  something  from 
me  —  shorter  hours  and  better  wages.  Am  I 
right,  Stephenson  ?  " 

Aslag  Stephenson,    head    sawyer   of   the   mill, 
nodded.     He  looked  puzzled  and  intent. 

"As  to  the  shorter  hours,"  Mr.  Proctor  went 

on,  "  no.     If  we  run  the  mill  on  shorter  hours,  we 

run  it  to  its  closing.     It  cannot  pay.     I  have  been 

over  the  figures  carefully.     Our  season  is  short, 

and  we  are  far  from  the  markets.     We  must  push 

work  while  the  season  lasts.     I  know  that  eleven 

hours  is  a  long  day's  work,  but  eleven  hours  it 

must  be,  so  long  as  the  market  stands  as  it  does 

'  now.     If  I  work  two  shifts  I  cannot  pay  you  as 

much  as  I  do  now,  and  that  you  would  like  even 

less.     The  hours,  then,  cannot  be  changed.     For 

the  wages,  I  am  paying  now  all  that  I  can  afford, 

and  leave  a  safe  margin  of  profit.     But  you  are 

not  working  as  well  as  you  can.     This  is  what  I 

would  propose:   From  now   on,  a  percentage  of 

all  that  is  made  above  this  margin  I  will  divide 

among  you,  on  a  profit-sharing  system  that  I  will 

explain.     I  cannot  explain  this  to  you  fully,  for 

you  would  need  to  see  the  books  ;  but  if  you  will 

pick  out  one  of  your  number  whom  you  trust,  and 

who  understands  figures,  I  will  take  him  into  the 

office  and  show  him  what  I  mean.     I  have  been 

slow  in  offering  you  this  percentage,  for  I  needed 


MR.  PROCTOR  SPEAKS  241 

time  to  find  out  what  I  could  afford  to  do.  The 
business  was  new,  and  I  needed  a  year  of  experi 
ence  before  I  dared  make  changes.  This,  then,  is 
your  answer.  No  reduction  of  hours,  and  no 
change  of  wages  except  on  a  dividend  basis. 
Have  you  other  requests  ?  "  He  stopped  for  an 
swer,  and  the  men  shuffled  and  shook  their  heads. 

"  Have  I  touched  on  all  that  you  wish  to  say  ?  " 
he  persisted.  "  This  is  your  time." 

There  was  further  shaking  of  heads.  "  I  think 
that  is  all,"  Stephenson  ventured. 

"  Then  it  remains  to  me  to  state  my  intentions 
clearly.  If  you  cannot  accept  the  conditions  I 
have  made,  and  work  peaceably,  I  shall  dismiss 
you  all.  That  sounds  harsh  —  but  think.  I  am 
giving  you  the  best  terms  in  my  power,  —  my 
books  will  show  that,  —  and  the  more  smoothly 
you  work  the  larger  your  profits.  We  have  been 
falling  behind  lately.  This  cannot  go  on.  There 
fore,  if,  from  now  on,  one  hand  is  raised  against 
me,  if  I  find  one  more  notice  like  these  that  I 
hold  here,  the  mill  shall  be  closed.  You  have 
worked  together  in  hiding  your  meetings  from  me 
in  the  past;  work  together  now  in  preventing 
them.  For  if  one  goes,  all  go.  There  is  labor 
enough  to  be  had  somewhere,  but  even  if  I  do  not 
send  for  it,  I  can  better  afford  to  close  my  mill 
than  to  run  it  at  a  loss.  Are  you  following  me  ?  " 

The  faces  gave  assent  and  attention,  but  Mr. 
Proctor  stopped,  and  leaned  against  one  of  the 
upright  timbers  for  support.  The  strain  of  his 
weakness  was  telling. 


242  THE  LEGATEE 

"  If  we  are  through  with  business,"  he  went  on 
again,  "  there  is  one  thing  more  that  I  would  like 
to  say.  We  have,,  as  employer  and  employed, 
made  mistakes.  That  is  no  reason  why  we  should 
go  on  making  them.  You  took  your  stand  against 
me  without  reason.  My  ways  were  new  to  you, 
therefore  you  did  not  like  them.  For  my  own 
part,  I,  too,  was  severe  from  lack  of  understand 
ing.  I  could  not  see,  for  one  thing,  why  you 
should  be  bitter  over  the  war :  you  were  the  vic 
tors.  I  know  now  that  though  you  are  foreigners, 
many  of  you  lost  friends  and  brothers  in  the  war, 
and  that  they  died  for  a  cause  that  was  not  their 
own  because  they  felt  that  it  stood  for  freedom  — 
the  freedom  that  they  had  crossed  the  ocean  to 
find.  And  that  is  not  the  only  thing  that  I  have 
learned  about  you.  I  have  learned  of  your 
strength  of  heart  in  coming  into  this  wilderness 
to  make  a  home;  I  have  seen  your  self-denial 
that  your  children  might  go  to  school.  And  these 
things  have  made  me  wish  to  learn  more  ;  to  go 
among  you  on  a  new  footing  of  friendliness  and 
confidence.  I  cannot  do  this,  however,  by  making 
concessions  that  would  hurt  us  all  in  the  end.  I 
have  told  you  what  I  can  do.  From  to-day  we 
work  on  friendly  terms  or  we  part.  You  may  go 
home  now.  This  shall  be  a  holiday.  Talk  it 
over  ;  think  it  over ;  have  meetings  if  you  will. 
To-morrow  is  the  first  of  August.  That  is  a  good 
time  to  begin  on  a  new  leaf.  You  need  not  tell 
me  what  you  intend.  If  the  mill  starts  to-morrow 
at  six,  that  is  all  the  answer  I  will  need."  He 


MR.  PROCTOR  SPEAKS  243 

stopped  and  smiled  at  the  men.  It  was  a  grave 
smile,  for  he  was  tired,  but  it  met  a  response  that 
revived  his  flagging  strength.  The  men  slouched 
away  without  speaking,  but  they  cast  backward 
looks  of  friendliness. 

Cole  remained  and  looked  at  his  employer  anx 
iously.  "  You  '11  go  home  now,  Mr.  Proctor,  and 
rest  ?  " 

"  In  a  moment.  Yngve  was  not  here.  Did  he 
come  to  the  mill  this  morning  ?  " 

"  No.     Will  you  have  him  arrested?  " 

"  For  stealing  Heinrich's  belaying-pin  ?  What 
should  I  do  with  him,  with  no  jail  within  fifty 
miles  ?  No,  this  is  n't  a  matter  for  arresting  any 
one ;  it 's  patience  that  will  count  now.  The  men 
would  have  stayed  with  me,  I  think,  if  I  'd  asked 
for  a  vote  this  morning." 

"  I  wish  you  'd  done  it.  They  're  all  right  now, 
but  they  may  get  to  talking." 

"  A  vote  this  morning  would  n't  have  stood  for 
much  but  impulse.  How  suffocating  this  air  is ! 
No,  I  want  them  to  agitate,  and  see  Dr.  Griggs, 
and  stir  themselves  up  generally.  Then  if  they 
stay  with  me  it  will  mean  something.  But  I  have 
not  had  my  superintendent's  answer." 

Cole  held  out  his  hand  with  a  spontaneity  that 
was  rare  to  him.  "  I  'm  with  you,  Mr.  Proctor. 
I  prayed  —  I  don't  know  whether  I  'm  right.  But 
I  can't  do  anything  else.  God  could  n't  mean  for 
me  to  desert  now.  If  it  was  smooth  times  with 
you  it  might  be  different,  but  now  it  would  n't  be 
square." 


244  THE  LEGATEE 

Proctor  took  the  hand,  and  let  his  eyes  answer. 
It  came  to  him  that  in  his  appreciation  of  Cole's 
allegiance  his  estimate  of  values  had  greatly  al 
tered  in  the  year. 

"  You  heard  me  tell  the  men  that  one  of  their 
number  had  struck  me,"  he  said  later.  "  I  owe 
you  more  of  an  explanation.  I  have  good  cause  to 
think  that  it  was  Adrien  Lauzeone  —  good  cause, 
but  no  proof.  I  learn  that  Adrien  has  n't  been 
seen  since  day  before  yesterday." 

"  But  why  should  he  run  away  ?  You  did  n't 
see  him." 

"No,  but  he  had  threatened  me;  then  I  used 
his  name  just  before  the  blow  came,  and  he  may 
have  thought  that  I  saw  him.  I  'm  sorry  to  be 
lieve  that  it  was  Adrien.  He 's  young ;  that 
makes  me  feel  in  a  measure  responsible." 

Yes,  he  did  feel  responsible  —  and  not  for 
Adrien  alone.  The  long  stifling  day  of  forced  in 
action  wore  upon  his  pain-racked  nerves,  and  he 
was  almost  irritated  to  feel  that  his  sharpest  anx 
iety  was  not  for  himself.  If  he  were  forced  to 
close  the  mill,  what  could  the  men  do  to  live? 
The  question  cried  for  answer.  He  had  become, 
whether  he  would  or  no,  his  brother's  keeper. 

But  the  compensation  for  it  all  came  to  him 
tliat  evening  as  he  sat  at  his  window  in  the  twi 
light.  The  girl  whose  love  for  the  people  had 
taught  him  this  responsibility  might  not  be  for 
him,  but  this  part  of  her  thought  he  had  learned  to 
share.  He  held  an  understanding  of  her  that  no 
one  could  take  from  him ;  that  was  worth  some  pain. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

NEW   FACETS 

THE  next  morning  dawned,  as  all  the  days 
dawned  now,  hot  and  cloudless.  The  mill's  whistle 
blew  the  morning  calls,  and  Mr.  Proctor,  break 
fasting  leisurely  at  his  usual  hour,  did  not  look 
toward  the  yards.  He  would  learn  soon  enough, 
and  without  effort,  what  was  in  store  for  him.  He 
had  found  a  note  from  Katherine  awaiting  him, 
and  though  it  was  in  the  simplest  of  phrases,  ex 
pressing  her  pleasure  in  his  escape,  he  wished  to 
enjoy  it  undisturbed.  It  was  the  first  time  that  she 
had  written  him,  and  the  tangible  evidence  of  her 
interest  tempered  the  oppression  of  the  morning. 

Jessie  projected  her  head  into  the  opening  of  the 
kitchen  door.  She  never  walked  definitely  upright, 
and  she  never  stopped  ;  her  body  simply  followed 
her  investigating  head  in  a  slanting  line. 

"  Aslag  Stephenson  's  waiting  to  see  you,"  she 
cannonaded. 

So  it  was  to  be  war.  Proctor  turned  an  un 
moved  face.  "I  am  going  to  my  office.  Tell 
Stephenson  he  can  come  to  me  there." 

As  he  walked  to  the  office  he  heard  the  whir  of 
saws.  They  must,  after  all,  be  working,  and  have 
sent  a  delegate  to  see  the  books.  Yet  how  could 


246  THE  LEGATEE 

Stephenson  be  spared?  The  man  himself  an 
swered.  His  blond  bulk  filled  the  doorway,  but 
despite  his  inches  he  was  ill  at  ease. 

"Is  it  the  books,  Stephenson?" 

The  giant  grew  ruddy.  "  No,  sir,  it 's  to  ask  you 
to  compromise.  We  had  a  meeting  last  night "  — 

"  It 's  of  no  use,  Stephenson."  Mr.  Proctor 
turned  to  the  door.  "  I  gave  you  my  answer  yes 
terday.  There  is  no  ground  for  compromise." 

Cole  came  in  a  moment  later,  and  his  expression 
did  away  with  need  of  comment. 

"  Shall  we  shut  down  ?  "  he  asked. 

"At  once.  The  men  were  paid  yesterday. 
Come  to  the  office  as  soon  as  you  're  through,  and 
we  '11  look  the  situation  over.  We  've  several  alter 
natives." 

And  so  silence  descended  upon  Wilsonport. 
The  drone  of  the  machinery  was  as  much  a  part 
of  the  summer's  life  as  the  song  of  the  cicadas  by 
the  roadside,  and  this  unnatural  stillness  was  more 
jarring  than  noise.  Some  vital  principle  of  the 
year's  unfolding  seemed  to  be  lost,  and  the  strike, 
like  the  heat  and  the  drought,  confused  the  senses 
by  its  strangeness. 

Life  itself  was  confusing.  The  men,  unused  to 
liberty,  grew  moody  and  irritable  in  their  efforts 
to  use  their  freedom  to  its  utmost.  They  waited 
for  the  initiative  from  Mr.  Proctor,  but  he  went 
through  the  days  with  an  unconcern  of  manner 
that  told  them  nothing.  His  wound  was  trouble 
some,  and  he  gave  himself  over  to  idleness,  with 
no  apparent  care. 


NEW  FACETS  247 

"  Go  home,  Proctor,"  Dr.  Edmister  begged  at 
the  end  of  the  second  week.  The  men  were  sitting 
on  Mr.  Proctor's  porch,  facing  the  lake.  "  You  're 
only  making  the  men  furious  by  doing  nothing,  and 
I  don't  want  another  cracked  crown  on  my  hands. 
This  one  of  yours  will  take  some  time  to  heal,  and 
you're  looking  white.  Isn't  Detiere  capable  of 
handling  Birch  Creek  alone  ?  " 

"Detiere  is  capable  of  handling  this  entire 
village,  and  I  think  that  I  '11  let  him  do  it.  My 
plans  are  about  matured,  and  I  was  going  to  tell 
you  about  them.  I  'm  going  to  change  crews,  and 
open  the  mill  —  Detiere  here,  Cole  at  Birch  Creek.'1' 

The  doctor's  face  was  an  interrogation  point. 

"  It  will  be  easily  done,"  Proctor  went  on.  "  De 
tiere  can  manage  this  mill  with  his  Belgians.  I  've 
been  over  the  work  with  him,  and  he  understands 
all  that  is  necessary.  Cole  is  to  go  to  the  shingle 
mill.  That 's  easier  work  for  beginners,  of  course, 
and  we  've  picked  up  a  few  lads  from  the  farms. 
We  '11  be  a  little  short-handed  at  both  ends,  but 
we  can  say  that  we  're  running  the  two  mills. 
That 's  something." 

"  And  I  thought  that  you  were  sleeping  after 
noons,  and  reading  week-old  papers !  " 

"  I  've  had  no  opportunity  to  tell  you  what  I  was 
doing,  and  secrecy  seemed  necessary  with  the  men. 
It 's  a  poor  solution,  but  the  best  that  offered." 

"  I  don't  see  where  you  will  lose  from  now  on." 

"  I  may  not  lose  anything.  But  my  way  is  n't 
clear  as  regards  the  men.  I  can't  make  conces 
sions  —  that  would  be  the  elixir  of  madness.  But 


248  THE  LEGATEE 

the  men  must  have  work.  I  would  n't  import  out 
side  labor ;  that  would  cut  me  off  from  taking  these 
men  back.  Detiere's  crew  can  be  shifted  at  any 
time." 

The  doctor  laid  his  hand  on  the  young  man's 
arm.  "  You  're  taking  a  great  deal  of  thought  for 
these  men  who  have  tried  to  injure  you." 

Proctor's  face  did  not  light.  "I'm  taking  it 
too  late,  I  fear.  If  I  had  acted  on  your  teaching 
earlier  —  yes,  Dr.  Edmister,  I  could  not  know  you 
and  your  daughter  without  learning  charity  —  I 
might  have  saved  the  men  from  this  open  rebel 
lion.  Then  I  could  have  won  them  in  time.  They 
are  easily  swayed.  It  was  Yngve  who  swung  the 
balance  against  me  last  night." 

"  You  think  it  was  not  —  Dr.  Griggs  ?  " 

"  Yes  and  no.  I  think  we  've  been  inclined  to 
give  Griggs  too  much  credit.  The  seeds  of  revolt 
were  sown  before  his  time  —  he 's  been  little  more 
than  gardener.  I  think  that  I  've  the  story  of 
Heinrich  and  the  feed  loft  at  last." 

"  He  told  you  ?  " 

"  I  suppose  I  trapped  him  into  it.  He  said  that 
he  had  made  a  vow  not  to  tell,  and  in  explaining 
what  a  vow  was  he  blundered  out  enough  of  the 
story  for  me  to  supply  the  rest.  It  seems  Yngve  in 
duced  Heinrich  to  join  their  secret  society.  When 
Heinrich  found  that  they  were  talking  anarchy, 
he  threatened  to  expose  them;  whereon  Yngve 
taunted  him  with  his  vow." 

"  So  Heinrich  knocked  him  down,"  the  doctor 
completed.  "  I  thought  that  I  saw  the  triumph  of 


NEW  FACETS  249 

the  reformer  in  Heinrich's  eyes  that  night.  Well, 
if  Dr.  Griggs  has  n't  been  the  driving  wheel,  who 
has?" 

"  They  've  lacked  a  wheel  —  else  all  this  would 
have  come  to  a  head  earlier.  As  I  see  the  situ 
ation  now,  Dr.  Griggs  has  been  little  more  than 
their  oracle  —  their  visible  testimony  that  their 
views  were  sound  and  their  ways  righteous.  He 
found  this  labor  movement  ready  for  his  hand, 
and  it  suited  his  ends  to  foster  it  —  up  to  a  point. 
I  've  no  idea  that  he  intended  to  permit  this  defi 
nite  revolt.  If  he  'd  wanted  a  strike,  he  could  have 
brought  it  about  two  months  ago.  No,  I  doubt 
that  we  '11  hear  much  about  him  from  now  on.  If 
the  men  don't  work,  they  '11  have  no  money ;  if 
they  don't  have  money,  they  can't  pay  him.  He 
must  have  worked  out  the  logic  of  that  long  ago. 
I  think  that  Yngve  has  the  reins  now." 

"  Poor  lad !  With  his  temperament  it  was  the 
turn  of  a  copper  whether  he  should  preach  anarchy 
—  or  salvation." 

" Poor  people,  I  should  say!"  Proctor  turned 
in  his  chair  impatiently  as  the  thought  came  home 
to  him.  "  For  Yngve  has  their  ear.  I  could  hear 
him  last  night ;  he  was  talking  in  the  square  by 
the  church.  It  would  have  had  its  ludicrous 
side  if  there  had  n't  been  so  much  at  stake.  He 
had  Dr.  Griggs's  intonations  and  vocabulary  and 
Adrien's  ideas.  It  was  an  ingenious  patchwork." 

The  doctor  was  silent  for  a  time.  "  So  the  mill 's 
to  open  Monday.  Will  Detiere's  men  bring  then 
families  ?  " 


250  THE  LEGATEE 

"  Not  now.  There 's  nowhere  to  put  them. 
We  '11  try  it  as  it  is  for  a  time.  We  may  need  the 
whole  force  to  fight  fire  before  the  month 's  over. 
The  tamarack  swamp  south  of  the  creek  is  burn 
ing  —  I  heard  last  night  —  and  I  can't  afford  to 
let  the  fire  spread  into  the  heavy  timber.  I  sent 
out  men  last  night,  but  I  may  need  more." 

"We'll  have  rain  before  many  days.  This 
drought  can't  last.  It  will  seem  good  to  hear  the 
saws  whistling  again,  but "  —  the  doctor  extended 
a  warning  hand  —  "  don't  work  too  hard.  There  's 
need  of  your  strength  ahead." 

The  doctor  had  been  gone  an  hour  or  more,  when 
Mr.  Proctor,  turning  easily  in  his  lounging  chair, 
heard  the  click  of  his  gate.  He  looked  but  once, 
and  was  on  his  feet. 

"  Miss  Katherine  !  "  He  took  the  girl's  hand, 
and  led  her  up  to  the  veranda.  "  I  've  waited  for 
this  every  day  since  I  've  been  an  invalid." 

The  girl  had  lost  the  happy  comradeship  of  man 
ner  that  she  had  shown  him  in  the  earlier  summer. 
"  I  've  a  plan,"  she  announced  rather  breathlessly. 

"  So  this  is  n't  a  visit  ?  "  There  was  disappoint 
ment  in  the  question,  whatever  its  raillery  of  tone, 
and  Katherine  answered  it  seriously. 

"  But,  Mr.  Proctor,"  she  said  slowly,  "  I  'm  sure 
you  know  that  I  've  thought  about  you  all  these 
days.  Yet  we  have  n't  had  room  to  feel  sorry, 
father  and  I,  —  we  've  been  so  glad  it  was  no  worse. 
You  must  know  that." 

"  It 's  good  to  hear  it,  anyway,"  —  the  man 
smiled  at  the  water,  —  "  and  it 's  doubly  good  to 
see  you.  It 's  been  a  long  time." 


NEW  FACETS  251 

"  Yes,  you  have  been  very  busy  this  summer." 
She  dismissed  the  subject  in  some  haste.  "I've 
been  to  see  Olive,  and  she  told  me  about  your 
plans  —  that  Mr.  Cole  was  going  to  Birch  Creek. 
Please  don't  look  black.  Of  course  she  ought  not 
to  have  told  me,  but  —  I  don't  tell  things,  and 
she  was  worrying  about  her  husband  —  about 
having  him  go  out  there  alone.  I  told  her  I  was 
going  to  tell  you  that  she  had  told  me,  and  made 
her  say  that  she  was  willing.  You  're  not  vexed  ?  " 

"  I  like  you  to  know  about  my  plans.  I  'm  not 
in  the  least  —  I  am  gratified,  Miss  Katherine." 
Mr.  Proctor  still  smiled  at  the  water.  "  Go  on. 
All  this  is  prelude." 

"  How  easy  you  make  things  !  "  The  girl  gave 
a  luxurious  sigh.  "  Yes,  it 's  a  prelude.  But, 
about  the  mill,  —  I  was  sure  that  you  were  doing 
something.  I  knew  that  you  were  not  giving  up 
as  you  seemed  to  be,  and  I  've  waited  for  the 
whistles  every  day.  I  knew  that  you  would  n't 
give  up." 

"  Why  would  n't  I?  "  It  was  childish,  but  he 
wished  to  hear  her  say  it.  He  was  entitled  to  some 
indulgence  ;  he  had  few  pleasures,  and  he  had  been 
ill.  He  enumerated  his  excuses  even  as  he  spoke. 

The  girl  scrutinized  him,  and  bit  her  lip. 
"  Why,  you  could  n't,  and  be  —  why,  of  course 
you  could  n't !  I  told  father  so  —  and  so  you  see 
it  was  n't  so  much  Olive's  fault,  after  all  —  the 
telling  me.  And  I  want  to  go  out  to  Birch  Creek 
with  Olive,  and  teach  the  school." 

Mr.  Proctor  dropped  his  study  of  the  water,  and 
fell  to  earth  with  a  crash. 


252  THE  LEGATEE 

"  To  Birch  Creek !  "  he  protested. 

Katherine  held  out  her  hand  at  his  dismay. 
"  I  've  been  dreading  that  tone.  '  I  am  not  mad, 
most  noble  Festus.'  Let  me  show  you  how  simple 
it  is.  Father  has  an  invitation  to  read  a  paper  at 
the  National  Medical  Convention,  or  a  something 
like  that.  It  meets  at  Philadelphia  next  month. 
He  's  been  sending  papers  to  the  medical  journals 
on  a  something  with  a  long  name,  and  they  want 
him  to  discuss  it.  I  think  that  he  would  go  if  it 
were  not  for  leaving  me.  Now  Olive  can't  go  to 
Birch  Creek  without  another  woman  —  at  least, 
her  husband  says  that  she  can't.  Don't  you  see 
how  it  all  works  out  ?  If  I  can  get  the  school 
there,  I  can  stay  with  Olive,  and  at  the  same  time 
earn  some  money,  and  father  can  go  away."  She 
stopped,  with  a  climax  of  triumph. 

Mr.  Proctor  turned  the  thought  over.  "It 
sounds  feasible.  Are  you  sure  there  's  a  school  ?  " 

"  Yes,  there 's  a  school,  and  the  term  begins 
soon.  I  know  that  you  did  n't  want  to  influence 
father  before,  but  this  is  different.  Will  you  try 
to  make  father  see  that  I  shall  be  safe,  and  that 
it  is  the  right  thing  to  do  ?  " 

"  But  Birch  Creek  !  It 's  a  wild  place,  even 
with  the  men  away.  Miss  Katherine,  I  don't 
like  "  — 

Katherine  rose  with  a  grave  little  air  of  dignity. 
"  Must  I  hear  that  from  you  both  I  Think,  Mr. 
Proctor,  of  what  it  means  to  me.  My  father  is 
not  well.  I  have  been  alone  with  him  this  spring 
and  summer,  and  have  seen  him  change  and  grow 


NEW  FACETS  253 

old  from  day  to  day.  He  has  changed  so  much, 
and  there  has  been  nothing  for  me  to  do  or  say  — 
but  this  is  my  opportunity.  If  he  goes  now,  he 
will  have  excuse.  He  can't  feel  that  he  has  de 
serted,  or  that  I  have  been  meddling.  Even  if  he 
stays  but  a  few  weeks  it  will  be  a  gain.  Can  you 
see  how  much  is  in  the  balance  and  still  tell  me 
that  Birch  Creek  is  a  rough  place  ?  " 

"  I  can  tell  you  that  I  trust  your  wisdom,  and 
that  I  will  help  you  —  always.  In  return  —  may 
I  play  guardian  while  your  father  is  away,  Lady 
Patricia?" 

The  girl  flushed.  "  I  'm  glad  that  Mr.  Cabell 
went  away  before  this  trouble  began."  She  made 
no  attempt  to  hide  her  understanding  of  the  allu 
sion.  "  He  would  have  been  so  impatient  of  it  all ! 
He  never  could  make  allowances." 
"  But  am  I  to  be  guardian  ?  " 
"  Is  it  always  pound  for  pound  with  you?"  she 
asked  wrathfully.  "  Your  idea  of  playing  guardian 
would  be  to  make  me  walk  from  Olive's  to  the 
schoolhouse  with  my  eyes  on  a  crack." 
"  Miss  Katherine,  I  'm  serious." 
"You  always  are  serious."  An  attempt  at  a 
sigh  escaped  into  a  smile.  "  That 's  why  I  don't 
want  to  promise.  If  you  say  to  father  that  you  '11 
be  responsible  for  my  up-risings  and  down-sittings 
while  he  's  away,  you  '11  give  me  a  great  deal  of 
time  and  thought  that  you  can't  afford  to  spare. 
You  '11  be  trying  all  the  time  to  see  that  I  'm  com 
fortable.  You  're  going  to  need  all  your  time  and 
strength  for  your  own  perplexities,  and  —  and  I 
don't  want  to  promise." 


254  THE  LEGATEE 

"Then  there's  nothing  more  to  be  said."  The 
man  picked  up  a  book  from  the  veranda  floor,  and 
straightened  its  crumpled  leaves.  "  Where  is  Che 
valier  to-day?  " 

"  Oh,"  Katherine  groaned,  "  why  did  n't  the 
fairy  godmothers  give  me  tact  —  and  you  percep 
tion  !  Can't  you  see  that  it 's  only  that  I  don't 
want  to  burden  you  more  than  is  necessary  ?  You 
must  know  that  I  would  n't  come  to  you  as  I  do 
unless  I  felt  sure  of  your  interest  and  friendship 
for  father  and  me.  But  you  do  take  things  seri 
ously,  and  you  'd  take  me  so.  However,  if  you  're 
going  to  look  at  me  in  this  way,  —  yes,  a  thousand 
times  yes !  " 

The  man's  mouth  quirked.  "  But  it 's  a  serious 
matter,  —  the  following  of  your  mental  processes. 
You  may  be  right.  Responsibility  for  your  moods 
might  prove  a  burden." 

Katherine  laughed.  "  It  would  be  more  than  a 
burden  —  what  Mr.  Green  would  call  a  '  chore.' 
I  must  go  now.  And  to  think  that  the  mill  is  to 
start  Monday!  "  She  rose  and  looked  down  at  the 
silent  buildings.  "  You  will  speak  to  father  ?  " 

"  I  *11  go  with  you  now."  Mr.  Proctor  hesitated. 
"Will  you  leave  the  school  for  me  to  arrange? 
I  '11  be  at  Birch  Creek  a  great  deal  from  now  on ; 
it  will  be  very  simple." 

"  I  think  that  it  is  always  simple  for  you  to 
be  kind."  The  words  faltered,  and  in  dismay 
the  girl  seized  upon  another  sentence.  "  Is  n't  it 
strange  about  Adrien!  You  know  that  he  has 
disappeared,  don't  you  ?  " 


NEW  FACETS  255 

"  Yes." 

Katherine  looked  up.  "  What  —  why,  do  you 
know  where  he  is  ?  " 

"  The  impression  seems  to  be  that  he  has 
shipped  on  a  wood  schooner.  He  had  a  quarrel 
with  his  father,  the  men  say.  His  father  wanted 
him  to  do  some  work  for  me." 

Katherine  looked  rebuffed  and  doubtful.  These 
smooth  phrases  were  not  Mr.  Proctor's  thought. 

"  Shall  we  go  ?  "  she  asked,  with  a  little  indraw- 
ing  of  her  lip. 

The  man  looked  at  her  over  the  back  of  his 
chair ;  his  eyes  could  not  hide  his  exultation  that 
she  should  have  read  him  so  well.  "  But  I  've  told 
you  all  that  I  know,"  he  expostulated.  "  I  've  no 
knowledge  of  where  Adrien  is.  My  suspicions 
amount  to  nothing." 

"  You  have  suspicions  ?  Adrien  —  Adrien  and 
I  were  friends."  Katherine's  voice  was  suddenly 
difficult  to  control. 

Mr.  Proctor  was  making  up  his  mind.  "  Miss 
Katherine,  will  you  stay  a  few  minutes  longer  — 
here,  this  chair  is  more  comfortable  —  and  let  me 
tell  you  the  story  of  my  suspicions  ?  You  are  com 
mitted  to  a  long  business  tale  if  you  do." 

Katherine  checked  the  affirmative  that  her  lips 
formed.  "  Do  you  really  wish  to  tell  me  ?  "  she 
asked  soberly.  "You  remember  that  I  —  that  I 
once  made  trouble  for  you." 

Was  it  possible  that  she  was  still  grieving  over 
that  memory  ?  Mr.  Proctor  studied  her  —  he  had 
opportunity,  for  her  eyes  were  downcast  —  and  her 


256  THE  LEGATEE 

close  pressed  lips  told  him  that  the  thought  that 
she  had  summoned  was  one  of  sore  humiliation. 
She  looked  so  like  a  hurt  child  that  his  hand  went 
out  to  her. 

"  Now,  is  it  fair  "  —  his  short  laugh  was  at  once 
emotion's  herald  and  its  check —  "  to  build  a  wall 
between  us  on  that  ground?  I've  told  you  —  a 
little —  That  memory  is  precious  to  me,  Miss 
Katherine.  Some  day  —  But  now  I  'm  going  to 
tell  you  this  story." 

He  told  the  story  fully.  The  notices,  Heinrich's 
belaying-pin,  Yngve,  the  night  upon  the  lighthouse 
trail  —  he  withheld  nothing.  They  had  fallen,  as 
her  father  had  said,  on  evil  times ;  she  must  be 
armed  with  knowledge. 

"  But  if  Adrien  comes  to  you,"  he  concluded, 
"  or  if  you  see  him  accidentally,  don't  turn  away. 
Whatever  he  did  —  and  we  don't  know  that  he  did 
anything  —  is  past." 

It  was  the  poised,  mature  Katherine  that  with 
varying  eyes  had  followed  the  growth  of  his  story, 
and  that  looked  up  at  him  now. 

"  Was  I  wrong  in  giving  up  Adrien's  friendship  ? 
I  could  n't  hurt  Ferdinante  that  way  when  I  learned 
what  I  was  doing.  For  Karen  had  hurt  me  —  she 
did  n't  intend  it.  So  I  knew.  But  how  can  I  help 
you  with  Adrien  ?  " 

"  How  can  you  help  me  ?  " 

"  How  can  I  help  you  get  him  back  ?  I  know 
that  you  feel  responsible  for  him,  just  as  you  do  for 
the  men.  I  heard  —  what  you  tried  to  do." 

"  But  I  failed  with   the   men  —  utterly.     One 


NEW  FACETS  257 

does  n't  accomplish  democracy  in  one  speech  after 
indifference  of  a  year.  I  don't  know  how  we  can 
any  of  us  reach  Adrien.  I  think  he  's  in  the  woods 
in  semi-hiding.  People  are  too  ready  in  assuring 
me  that  he  has  gone  away.  He  's  probably  preach 
ing  communism  to  the  wood-choppers."  He 
stopped  and  looked  off  at  the  lighthouse  point. 
With  his  look  came  pictures  of  the  lad  and  lass  who 
had  danced  to  Heinrich's  violin  less  than  a  year 
before.  No  wonder  that  Adrien's  name  brought 
tears  to  the  girl's  eyes  ! 

"  Adrien  will  justify  himself,  yet,"  he  said,  with 
a  change  of  tone.  "  Ferdinante  will  bring  him  to 
manhood  if  a  woman  can  —  and  it  was  you  who 
saved  him  for  Ferdinante.  Now  shall  we  go  and 
find  your  father  ?  " 

They  found  the  doctor  in  his  office.  It  was  a 
long  talk  that  the  men  had  as  the  sun  dropped  to 
sunset.  Katherine  was  not  with  them,  but  she 
was  called  at  last  and  told  that  she  had  gained 
her  point. 

"  And,  Katherine,"  —  her  father  held  her  hand 
a  moment,  —  "  Mr.  Proctor  tells  me  that  he  has 
promised  to  be  guardian.  You  may  have  need  of 
him.  Remember  that  I  wish  you  to  go  to  him 
freely  if  you  do." 

The  girl  looked  up.  Her  father  and  Mr.  Proc 
tor  were  looking  at  her  intently.  Did  their  quiet 
scrutiny  mean  that  they  felt  that  she  would  prove 
a  care  ?  She  read  their  scrutiny  as  gravity  over 
the  responsibility  that  she  might  be. 

"  I  '11  try  not  to  give  you  trouble,"  she  said  a 
little  unsteadily. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

CROSS-CURRENTS 

Six  o'clock  of  the  next  Monday  morning  heard 
the  call  of  the  mill's  whistles,  and  the  drowsy  vil 
lage  was  galvanized  to  instant  life.  Each  door 
showed  a  protruding  head ;  the  blue  puffing  smoke 
that  rose  against  the  sulphur  of  the  morning  sky 
stood  for  a  surprise  that  to  the  on-lookers  was  near 
to  tragedy.  They  were  unprepared ;  Cole,  always 
silent,  had  had  no  difficulty  in  keeping  his  move 
ments  from  their  knowledge,  and  Detiere's  men 
had  been  brought  in  late  the  night  before. 

The  opening  of  the  mill  was  dramatic  in  that  it 
was  unexpectedly  commonplace.  The  Belgians 
worked  indifferently,  stolidly  oblivious  of  jeers  and 
imprecations  ;  Detiere,  conscious  to  his  ringer  tips 
of  the  effectiveness  of  his  pose,  looked  a  bronze 
statue  of  indifference  ;  and  Mr.  Proctor,  at  work 
in  his  office,  seemed  equally  unconcerned.  The 
men  could  make  nothing  of  the  situation,  and  sur 
prise  deprived  them  of  the  power  of  vituperation, 
which  had  comforted  them  hitherto.  Lack  of  ex 
citement  left  them  baffled.  The  importation  of 
outside  labor  they  had  been  prepared  to  meet  and 
resent,  but  Louis  Detiere's  appearance  changed  the 
horizon  ;  the  cries  of  "  scab,"  which  they  raised  at 
intervals,  seemed  ineffective. 


CROSS-CURRENTS  259 

The  next  morning  a  committee  waited  on  Mr. 
Proctor,  and  asked  him  to  submit  new  terms.  He 
heard  them  with  patience,  but  shook  his  head. 

"  You  must  come  to  my  terms,"  he  said.  "  I 
gave  you  in  the  beginning  the  best  terms  that  I 
can  offer.  I  can  only  tell  you  again  that  if  I  con 
cede  more,  the  mill  will  be  run  without  profit  —  if 
not  at  a  loss.  In  the  end  that  will  hurt  you  as 
well  as  me.  For  no  mill  will  come  here  if  I  fail. 
There  's  too  little  good  timber  left.  I  gave  you 
the  opportunity  to  discuss  this  two  weeks  ago. 
For  the  present  the  subject  is  closed." 

There  was  silence  in  the  little  office,  as  he  fin 
ished,  and  the  waves  of  heat  that  rose  from  the 
floor  beat  upon  the  company  with  the  distinctness 
of  sound. 

"  But  there  is  work  for  you  if  you  will  do  it," 
Mr.  Proctor  went  on.  "  You  can  go  into  the  woods 
and  get  out  shingles  by  hand.  I  will  buy  all  that 
you  bring  here  to  market." 

The  men  listened  sullenly.  They  had  shaved 
shingles ;  it  was  harder  than  the  mill  work,  and 
the  pay  was  small.  Then,  too,  they  had  no  teams. 
Sick  memories  came  of  early  days  when  they  had 
worn  wooden  yokes  and  drawn  their  own  carts  to 
the  settlement. 

Mr.  Proctor  watched  their  faces.  "I  think 
that  it  is  only  fair  to  tell  you,"  he  said  slowly, 
"  that  Detiere  and  his  men  go  well  armed  —  by 
my  permission.  This  is  because  an  attack  was 
made  upon  me,  and  because  I  feel  responsible  for 
the  safety  of  the  inen  in  my  employment.  If  you 


260  THE  LEGATEE 

can  understand  —  what  is  the  truth  —  that  I  am 
trying  to  arrange  this  with  your  welfare  in  mind, 
you  will  not  resort  to  force.  But  it  may  prevent 
trouble  for  you  to  know  that  Detiere's  men  are 
prepared  for  it." 

The  men  walked  away  with  bent  heads.  The 
day  was  lowering  with  a  hot  wind  which  tore  the 
lake  to  spray  ;  earth  seemed  leagued  with  air  for 
their  undoing.  They  wiped  the  dust  from  their 
moist  faces,  and  their  mouths  grew  dogged.  Fair 
words  did  not  put  their  names  back  on  the  pay 
roll.  As  to  going  into  the  woods  to  get  out 
shingles,  that  would  be  a  confession  of  failure. 
Their  leader  had  told  them  that  labor  must  always 
keep  the  upper  hand. 

In  the  house  on  the  bluff  events  moved  swiftly. 
The  doctor,  once  stirred,  was  a  man  of  action. 
The  house  was  to  be  closed  for  two  months,  Mr. 
and  Mrs.  Green  were  to  go  to  Vermont  for  a 
visit,  and  Katherine  was  to  teach  at  Birch  Creek. 
It  was,  as  Katherine  had  prophesied,  very  simple 
in  the  doing. 

But  "good-bys,"  Katherine  learned,  were  not 
simple  in  the  saying.  Yet  she  said  hers  without 
tears.  She  stood  alone  with  her  father  in  the 
close  cabin  of  the  steamer,  and  was  held  tightly  in 
a  long  embrace.  The  red  plush  settees  wavered 
before  her  eyes,  but  her  smile  was  brave. 

"  Good-by,  daughter."  It  was  the  man  who 
could  not  command  his  voice  at  this  last  moment. 
"Don't  stay  here.  Let  Mr.  Proctor  take  you 
home  with  Olive.  Good-by." 


CROSS-CURRENTS  261 

The  gang-plank  was  withdrawn  ;  the  steamer 
gave  a  warning  lurch,  and  backed  away.  The 
doctor  grasped  the  white-painted  rail  of  the  stern, 
and  looked  down  into  the  faces  turned  toward  him, 
—  Mr.  Proctor,  Heinrich,  Olive,  a  group  of  men 
from  the  store,  some  who  had  been  of  the  mill, 
and  in  the  centre,  Katherine,  her  eyes  bright, 
her  tremulous  smile  ready.  He  looked  at  them 
and  at  the  village ;  and  the  scene,  shimmering  un 
steadily  in  waves  of  heat,  grew  remote  and 
unreal.  Why  was  he  leaving?  He  was  needed 
there.  Already  he  looked  at  the  picture  as  from 
a  world  removed.  The  shifting  floor  under  his 
feet  belonged  to  the  country  that  lay  beyond  the 
horizon  line,  and  his  heart  cried  for  the  land  that 
was  slipping  away.  It  had  never  looked  lonelier 
than  now,  as  it  lay  parched  and  dust-blown  before 
him ;  but  its  very  dreariness  clutched  his  heart. 
All  that  he  saw  he  knew,  as  he  knew  the  curves 
of  his  forest  trail;  it  was  his  by  right  of  labor. 
Had  he  the  right  to  leave  his  post  ?  The  steamer 
turned  the  southern  horn  of  the  crescent,  and  the 
pier  melted  into  indistinctness  ;  the  brown  house 
on  the  bluff  looked  down  from  its  rocky  shelf  with 
that  air  of  abiding  loneliness  which  an  hour  of 
absence  of  the  family  life  can  bring.  Its  shut 
tered  windows  echoed  the  good-by  in  the  doctor's 
heart.  It  was  good-by  for  two  months  only.  Yet 
what  might  two  months  not  bring  ? 

The  watching  group  upon  the  pier  scattered 
slowly.  Dr.  Edmister's  tall  figure,  familiar  as  the 
pines  upon  the  lighthouse  ledge,  had  gained  dis- 


262  THE  LEGATEE 

tinction  in  their  eyes,  at  this  last  moment,  and 
they  felt  oddly  lonely.  Late  awakening  to  re 
morse  —  that  old  punishment  of  Life,  the  school 
master —  made  their  speech  scant.  The  doctor 
had  been  always  patient  and  tireless,  they  remem 
bered  now.  Then  they  growled  at  the  weather, 
and  walked  away. 

Olive  and  Heinrich,  who  started  home  with 
Katherine,  were  vociferously  cheerful  —  painting 
the  pleasures  of  the  doctor's  trip  with  startling 
pigments.  Mr.  Proctor  listened  for  a  moment, 
then  came  to  Katherine. 

"  Will  you  come  down  on  the  beach  with  me  ?  " 
he  asked.  "  We  can  go  to  the  point  and  watch 
the  steamer." 

Katherine  turned  a  look  which  did  not  conceal 
its  gratitude,  and  they  walked  in  silence  to  where 
the  widening  view  showed  them  the  steamer  once 
more,  a  swaying  exclamation  point  of  gray  break 
ing  the  blue  which  stretched  to  the  horizon. 

Mr.  Proctor  drew  a  water-bleached  log  down 
toward  the  wave  line,  and  cushioned  it  with  moss 
from  a  wind-blown  hemlock. 

"  There  !  "  He  studied  his  upholstery  with  an 
admiration  that  gave  him  excuse  for  avoiding  the 
girl's  eyes.  "  You  are  to  sit  there,  and  cry  to 
your  heart's  content.  Cry  as  you've  been  wishing 
to  all  this  week.  For  a  little  while  don't  try  to  be 
brave." 

To  his  surprise  the  girl  turned  to  him  a  pair  of 
clear  eyes. 

"  How  did  you  know  — -  but  you  're  wrong,  after 


CROSS-CURRENTS  263 

all.  I  don't  want  to  be  left  alone,  and  I'm  not 
going  to  cry.  I  want  to  talk  to  you  for  a  moment ; 
then  I  must  go  to  the  house  and  help  Olive.  We 
go  to  Birch  Creek  to-morrow.  And  you  're  not 
to  give  your  charge  a  moment's  thought.  I  'm  not 
going  to  be  lonely.  I  'm  going  to  work  —  work. 
I  learned  it  in  the  copy  books  —  that  work  was  a 
refuge." 

"  A  refuge  ?  " 

"  From  unpleasant  thoughts.  I  Ve  read  it  from 
my  Second  Reader  on  —  that  work  was  a  narcotic 
for  unhappiness." 

"  And  sometimes  an  outlet  for  joy  ? "  The 
question  sounded  casual,  but  the  man  dug  among 
the  stones  at  his  feet  with  unnecessary  energy. 

"  I  don't  know.  Joy  means  contentment,"  said 
the  girl  sagely.  "  If  people  are  satisfied  with  what 
the  day  brings  them,  why  should  they  go  out  in 
the  highroad,  where  the  stones  are  rough  and  the 
sun  hot?" 

"  '  Ambition  —  by  this  sin  fell  the  angels '  ?  " 

"  Oh,  ambition  !  "  The  girl  frowned,  though 
a  dimple  shifted.  "  That 's  a  word,  a  formula,  a 
phrase  to  hide  behind.  I  've  thought  of  it  often 
lately.  I  have  n't  been  happy  this  winter,  but 
when  I  was  busy  I  could  forget.  And  I  've  won 
dered  if  that  was  what  pushed  people  to  great 
deeds  —  that  they  might  forget.  It's  a  strange 
thought  —  that  the  pictures  that  have  been 
painted,  and  the  bridges  that  have  been  built, 
stand  for  the  men  and  women  who  have  found 
that  they  had  blundered  —  that  life  was  n't  giving 


264  THE  LEGATEE 

them  what  they  had  the  right  to  expect  —  and 
who  have  been  too  proud  to  complain." 

The  man  was  at  a  loss  for  reply.  If  he  took  her 
seriously  —  She  solved  the  query  with  a  catch  of 
laughter. 

"  How  sorry  you  must  be  for  me,"  —  her  lip 
gave  an  unexpected  quiver,  — "  to  listen  in  such 
a  matter  of  fact  way !  But  I  'm  not  going  to  be 
lonely  —  father  would  grieve.  And  I  came  down 
here  to  ask  you  not  to  think  of  me  as  in  your 
charge." 

"  But  you  are  in  my  charge.  I  '11  try  to  be  an 
indulgent  guardian." 

"  Please  don't  think  it  a  jest.  I  know  that  you 
and  father  felt  that  I  did  n't  understand  ;  that  I 
did  n't  know  how  serious  the  situation  had  grown, 
and  that  I  might  try  to  live  at  Birch  Creek  as  I 
have  lived  here.  But  I  do  understand.  I  '11 
promise  anything  you  like.  It  shall  be  from 
Olive's  to  the  schoolhouse,  and  from  the  school- 
house  to  Olive's.  I  '11  not  stray  an  inch  from  the 
highroad.  Only,  you  're  to  promise  not  to  think 
of  me  as  a  care ;  riot  to  consider  me  in  your 
charge." 

"  But,  Miss  Katherine,  it  is  a  pleasure  "  — 

"For  you,  perhaps,  —  not  for  me.  For  please 
see  my  side  of  it.  For  you  —  I  know  that  you  are 
ready  —  that  it  is  a  pleasure  —  to  do  a  kindness. 
But  there  is  no  need  of  giving  you  unnecessary 
care.  I  realize  —  more  than  you  think  —  the 
weight  that  you  are  carrying.  There  is  something 
strange  in  the  air.  The  drought,  the  heat ;  it  is 


CROSS-CURRENTS  265 

all  beginning  to  tell.  We  are  none  of  us  our 
selves.  Don't  you  suppose  that  I  can  see  how  this 
affects  you?  You  have  more  than  a  man's  bur 
den.  You  must  hold  the  men  to  sanity,  yet  go 
on  with  your  business.  You  need  a  steady  hand 

—  and  all  of  your  time." 

"  If  I  may  see  you  occasionally,  it  will  help  me 

—  keep  my  hand  steady." 

She  looked  at  him  almost  wistfully ;  her  glance 
begged  that  he  should  not  put  her  off  with  small 
courtesies. 

"You  have  been  too  busy  this  summer,"  she 
went  on,  her  mouth  set  to  determined  gravity, 
"  to  come  to  see  father  as  you  used  to  do.  Yet 
I  know  that  there  has  been  no  change  in  your 
friendship.  It  has  been  only  that  you  were  ab 
sorbed.  And  now  you  will  be  more  so.  You 
won't  have  time  to  think  or  speak  to  me  till  this 
is  over." 

He  looked  at  her  hopelessly,  moved,  through  all 
his  sudden  wrath,  by  the  grim  humor  of  the  situ 
ation.  Now  that  his  honor  at  last  permitted  him 
to  see  something  of  this  girl,  was  she  to  build  new 
barriers  between  them  ? 

She  was,  and  moreover  she  was  doing  it  with  a 
dignity  of  intention  that  he  could  not  overlook. 
Try  as  he  might,  he  found  no  trace  of  pique  in 
face  or  tone.  He  saw  her  point  of  view  with  dis 
quieting  clearness.  She  wished  to  carry  her  share 
of  the  day's  burden,  and  would  do  it  by  taking 
what  responsibility  she  could  into  her  own  hands. 

He  rose,  and  threw  a  handful  of  pebbles  at  the 


266  THE  LEGATEE 

water.  "  Does  n't  it  occur  to  you  that  as  elderly 
—  and  remarkable  —  a  person  as  you  announce 
me  to  be  might  be  competent  to  arrange  his  own 
times  —  to  suit  his  pleasure  ?  " 

"  But  you  do  see  what  I  mean,  Mr.  Proctor  ?  " 
Eyes  and  mouth  spoke  radiant  satisfaction.  "I 
promise  to  be  twice  as  careful  as  even  you  would 
ask.  And  now  I  must  go  home." 

They  walked  to  the  point  in  silence.  Mr.  Proc 
tor  was  biting  back  some  sentences ;  they  did  not 
belong  to  his  present  character  as  cold  and  cau 
tious  guardian. 

As  they  rounded  the  point,  Paul  Livingstone 
stood  in  their  way.  He  stopped,  and  raised  his 
hand.  Mr.  Proctor's  bow  he  did  not  appear  to 
see,  but  he  stepped  in  front  of  Katherine. 

"  So  your  father  left  you,"  he  said  pityingly. 
"  Did  he  think  to  escape  from  the  wrath  that  is 
to  come  ?  Tell  him  that  the  city  of  refuge  is 
,not  to  be  found  by  flight;  that  in  the  Day  of 
Judgment  the  strong  will  be  scattered  even  as  the 
weak." 

Katherine  raised  her  eyes  ;  clear  and  steady  they 
met  the  wavering  intensity  of  the  schoolmaster's 
glance. 

"  My  father  is  coming  back  soon,  Mr.  Living 
stone  ;  but  what  do  you  mean  ?  " 

The  man  pointed  to  the  black-piled  clouds  that 
lay  on  the  horizon,  then  to  the  dust-laden  forest. 
"  Search  the  Scriptures."  He  walked  away,  but 
his  voice  followed  them.  " '  The  hills  melt,  and 
the  earth  is  burned  at  his  presence.'  The  Lord 


CROSS-CURRENTS  267 

has  written  his  warnings  for  him   who   cares  to 
read." 

Whatever  her  will,  Katherine  shivered.  "  Let 
us  go."  She  drew  nearer  to  Mr.  Proctor.  "  Oh, 
if  it  would  only  rain !  " 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

DAY   BY   DAY 

KATHERINE'S  cry  for  rain  was  not  more  insist 
ent  than  Mr.  Proctor's  unspoken  plea  for  a  few 
days  of  calm  weather.  The  clouds,  which  held  no 
rain  these  latter  days,  were  prodigal  of  wind,  and 
the  beach  was  lined  with  wreckage.  So  long  as  Dr. 
Edmister  was  on  the  water,  Mr.  Proctor  watched 
his  barometer  with  anxiety. 

But  the  three  days  that  the  steamer  needed  to 
Chicago  passed  in  quiet,  and  letters  followed  soon 
after.  The  doctor  was  well ;  was  having  a  pleas 
ant  trip.  In  the  schoolroom  on  the  Birch  Creek 
road,  Katherine,  with  a  mouth  that  relaxed  in 
curves  it  had  sometimes  forgotten  this  past  year, 
smiled  at  her  dozen  pupils. 

There  was  little  smiling  in  the  village.  Sep 
tember,  whose  name  had  held  healing  in  its  syl 
lables  as  it  summoned  pictures  of  autumns  gone 
before,  had  come,  and  brought  no  change.  The 
chill  of  the  lengthening  shadows  could  not  color 
the  dried  and  dropping  leaves.  The  land  lay 
parched  and  gasping. 

The  sun  was  veiled,  indeed,  but  days  proved  that 
what  had  at  first  seemed  fog,  was  the  low  lying 
smoke  of  forest  fires.  Mr.  Proctor  doubled  his 


DAY  BY  DAY  269 

force  along  the  fire  line,  but  the  tangled  depths 
of  the  tamarack  swamps  guarded  the  smouldering 
sparks  with  a  cunning  that  overmatched  the  men. 
Wood  schooners,  touching  at  the  pier,  brought 
grave  reports  from  the  next  county.  Rain  must 
come  soon,  or  the  loss  of  timber  would  be  wide 
spread. 

At  Xavier  Lauzeone's  the  men  talked  vaguely 
of  the  might  of  labor,  but  the  heat  which  robbed 
their  nights  of  rest  palsied  their  thought  and  will. 
A  few  went  into  the  timber  and  began  work,  but 
public  disapproval  manacled  their  steps ;  the  mill, 
meanwhile,  whirred  on  its  undisturbed  way,  and 
Detiere's  black-browed  crew  smiled  insolently  as 
they  pointed  to  the  growing  piles  of  lumber. 

Mr.  Proctor  went  through  the  furnace  of  the 
days  with  an  even  pace.  The  muscular  leanness 
of  his  long  limbs  was  telling  now,  and  he  forced 
his  way  through  the  numbing  lassitude  that  mas 
tered  others. 

He  was  driving,  as  Katherine  had  said  that  he 
would,  with  a  steady  hand.  But  whither  did  the 
road  lead  ?  He  could  not  look  ahead  ;  but  he  went 
on  and  on,  counting  each  day  as  gain,  though  the 
goal  was  hidden.  His  mills  prospered  ;  not  so  the 
men  whom  he  chose  to  consider  as  his  responsi 
bility.  The  see-saw  of  interest  made  his  position  a 
constant  effort  for  balance.  If  Detiere's  crew  did 
their  work  as  well  as  it  had  been  done  in  Cole's 
day,  they  would  presume  upon  their  success.  That 
would  mean  riot.  Yet,  if  the  mills  did  not  make 
money,  what  could  the  man  do  whose  purse  stood 
for  the  livelihood  of  the  village  ? 


270  THE  LEGATEE 

His  overtures  to  the  men  must  be  tentative.  He 
had  tried  to  meet  them  frankly  —  and  had  been 
repulsed.  His  dignity  as  a  superior  force  was  a 
needed  weapon  in  his  armament,  and  he  would  not 
blunt  it. 

It  came  to  him  as  possible  that  he  might  reach 
the  women.  The  elementary  needs  would  have 
double  force  with  them ;  children  were  hungry, 
whatever  the  ethics  of  a  cause,  and  credit  at  the 
mill  store  would  not  last.  But  the  withdrawal 
that  met  his  efforts  at  friendliness  with  the  wives 
showed  that  it  was  late  to  gain  a  hearing  there. 
He  had  built  no  foundations.  Half-lifted  eye 
brows  made  him  aware  that  the  tale  of  his  slights 
to  Karen  had  found  listeners.  The  absurdity  of 
the  misunderstanding  did  not  make  it  the  less  piti 
ful.  The  facts,  as  lived  before  the  women,  moved 
them  less  than  the  suggestion  that  one  of  their 
number  had  been  jilted  by  the  man  who  held  them 
in  his  power.  Karen's  open  preference  for  the 
schoolmaster  had  not  impressed  them,  save  as  an 
expedient  of  hurt  vanity.  Whatever  their  respect 
for  Livingstone,  they  were  evidently  scornful  of 
him  in  the  capacity  of  cavalier. 

There  remained  Yngve  —  but  Yngve  had  tasted 
the  wine  of  leadership.  And  in  this  leadership 
lay  a  shadowing  of  tragedy,  as  Mr.  Proctor  knew. 
Yngve's  blatant  generalities  would  lead  the  men 
only  so  far  —  he  could  not  convince  them  to  con 
certed  action.  They  distrusted  his  youth,  yet 
lacked  an  abler  mouthpiece.  Concerted  action 
could  be  met  in  the  open,  but  this  formless  irrita- 


DAY  BY  DAY  271 

tion  would  find  head  in  the  insanity  of  a  blind 
clamor  for  revenge.  Then  it  would  be  a  knife  or 
a  blow  in  the  dark. 

There  were  days  when  Mr.  Proctor's  composure 
was  a  poor  mask  —  days  when  the  futility  of  it  all 
weighed  mercilessly.  Cui  bono?  But  physical 
weariness  was  his  friend.  Grinding  labor  gave 
him  dreamless  sleep  —  then  strength  for  the  next 
day. 

He  rode  often  to  Birch  Creek,  but  not  to  see 
Katherine.  His  first  visit  to  her  had  been  met 
with  such  a  mingling  of  reserve  and  pleading 
gentleness  that  it  seemed  cruel  to  repeat  it.  She 
could  see  in  his  courtesies  nothing  but  effort  to 
fulfill  his  promise  to  her  father.  Remembering  his 
avoidance  of  her  during  the  summer,  what  better 
understanding  could  he  ask  ?  He  knew  that  she 
was  well,  and  he  contented  himself,  as  he  rode  by 
the  schoolhouse,  with  a  glimpse  of  Chevalier,  who 
sat,  a  frigid  image  of  responsibility,  upon  the  door- 
stone. 

Olive  he  saw  often.  Her  white  kitchen  was  a 
breathing-place.  Here  was  a  household  spirit  that 
moved  serenely,  careless  of  the  grimness  of  the 
forest  so  long  as  her  husband  shared  her  life. 

Katherine  was  happy,  Olive  said.  The  girl's 
books  lay  on  the  table  ;  her  hat  hung  on  the  nail 
by  the  door.  The  air  told  of  home  and  content 
ment,  of  courage  that  helped  Mr.  Proctor  through 
his  weary  days. 

He  was  thinking  this,  somewhat  indefinitely,  one 
afternoon  as  he  turned  his  horse  homeward.  He 


272  THE  LEGATEE 

was  later  than  usual,  and  might  meet  Katherine 
on  the  road.  He  drew  his  horse  to  a  snail's  pace 
at  the  suggestion.  But  the  dusty  stretch  before 
him  remained  unbroken,  and  the  sharpness  of  his 
disappointment  turned  him  with  a  frown  to  the 
schoolhouse.  He  was  acting  a  boy's  part.  He 
could  at  least  give  himself  the  satisfaction  of  her 
face. 

The  children  had  gone  home,  and  Katherine  sat, 
back  to  the  door,  examining  a  pile  of  slates.  The 
dust  of  the  highway  padded  the  horse's  hoofs  with 
silence,  and  Mr.  Proctor  came  unobserved  to  the 
door.  He  stopped,  till  his  mouth  should  be  able 
to  hide  its  telltale  joy.  The  impressive  preoccu 
pation  of  this  schoolmistress  must  be  met  with  an 
attempt  at  equal  solemnity. 

He  coughed  at  last.  "  They  always  cough  on 
the  stage,"  he  said  apologetically,  "when  the 
heroine  refuses  to  turn  around." 

"  Oh,  Mr.-  Proctor  !  "  Katherine  was  on  her 
feet,  regardless  of  slates  or  dignity,  "  I  'm  so 
glad  !  I  'm  so  glad  ! " 

The  man  stepped  over  the  sill  into  a  new  earth. 

"  So  am  I,"  he  said  blankly.  Happiness  does 
not  always  give  command  of  thought. 

The  girl  drew  back.  "  Look  out  for  the  slates !  " 
She  still  breathed  quickly,  and  her  eyes  were  kin 
dling.  "  I  've  been  planning  all  day  how  I  could 
reach  you.  I  did  n't  want  to  alarm  Olive.  I 
had  n't  heard  you  go  by.  And  you  came !  " 

The  man  made  his  way  around  the  slaty  wreck 
age,  and  took  her  hand.  "  Yes,  I  came."  The 


DAY  BY  DAY  273 

hand  in  his  own  was  trembling,  and  the  knuckles 
of  his  free  hand  whitened.  "  Who  frightened 
you,  Katherine  ?  " 

It  was  not  Katherine's  hand  alone  that  trem 
bled  now.  She  leaned  on  the  desk  behind  her  for 
support. 

"  It 's  no  use  to  say  that  I  'm  not  frightened,  is 
it  ?  "  She  met  his  eyes  bravely.  "  But  it  was  n't 
for  myself.  It 's  about  you.  And  what  if  you 
had  n't  come  !  " 

"  What  if  I  had  n't !  "  The  fervor  of  one  re 
prieved  throbbed  in  the  exclamation.  "  What  can 
I  get  for  you  ?  "  He  drew  her  into  the  one  chair. 
"  A  drink  of  your  own  water  ?  H'm  !  I  don't 
like  your  dipper."  He  foraged  in  her  lunch  bas 
ket  until  he  found  a  cup,  and  stood  over  her  while 
she  drank.  "Now,  Lady  Schoolmistress,"  he  drew 
the  recitation  bench  near  her,  "  what  are  we  going 
to  do  about  these  slates  ?  " 

"  But  don't  you  want  to  know  what  it 's  all 
about?" 

He  laughed  and  bent  toward  her.  "  See  if  you 
can  hold  that  slate  steadily  while  I  count  ten. 
That 's  better  —  but  none  too  good." 

"  But  I  've  something  "  — 

"  Oh,  Lady,  Lady  !  "  He  sat,  elbow  on  knee,  a 
picture  of  content,  and  gave  his  eyes  holiday. 
"  What  can  you  tell  me  that  will  mean  more  than 
what  I  have  this  minute  ?  You  're  here  —  alive ; 
I  'm  here  —  alive.  To-morrow  's  —  to-morrow." 

Katherine's  head  went  back  with  a  sigh  of  satis 
faction. 


274  THE  LEGATEE 

"  See  how  yellow  the  sunshine  looks  on  the 
wall ! "  she  said  absently.  "  I  sit  and  watch  it 
sometimes  till  it  brings  back  the  old  feeling,  —  the 
love  of  the  woods  and  the  sun.  If  I  sit  where  I 
can't  see  the  window,  I  can  forget.  But"  —  her 
tone  came  back  to  its  normal  cheerfulness  —  "  the 
equinoctial  storms  will  be  coming  now.  And  when 
Ferdinante  "  — 

"  So  it 's  Ferdinante  !  "  He  had  found  one  of 
Katherine's  gloves,  and  drew  it  slowly  through  his 
fingers.  "  Is  she  going  to  play  the  Borgia  —  and 
what 's  my  offense  ?  " 

"  Don't  laugh !  I  found  her  waiting  for  me  this 
morning.  Think  of  her  reaching  here  so  early ! 
She  told  me  to  tell  you  to  be  careful ;  not  to  go 
out  alone  at  night.  I  Ve  been  here  all  day  with 
no  way  to  send  you  word.  I  'd  made  up  my  mind 
to  drive  to  Wilsonport  to-night  —  some  way.  I 
was  sitting  thinking  of  it  when  you  came.  And 
you  're  never  careful !  Can't  you  go  home  ?  " 

"  But  why  in  the  world  did  Ferdinante  come  to 
you  ?  "  The  man  did  not  intend  to  say  the  words 
aloud.  He  was  absorbed  in  his  irritation  that 
Katherine  should  have  been  annoyed. 

Katherine  crimsoned,  but  she  looked  at  him 
proudly.  "  I  think  that  it  was  because  she  knew 
that  I  would  be  concerned  about  your  danger,"  she 
said  simply,  "  and  that  I  'd  contrive  some  way  to 
send  you  word.  She  may  have  been  afraid  to  go 
to  you  herself." 

Mr.  Proctor  laid  his  hand  upon  the  girl's  for 
the  space  of  a  second.  "  I  'm  not  quite  a  churl, 


DAY  BY  DAY  275 

Miss  Katherine.  Of  course  I  know  why  Ferdi- 
nante  came  to  you.  She  was  searching  for  some 
thing  that  she  could  do  for  you  in  return  for  what 
you  've  been  to  her ;  so  she  manufactured  a  dan 
ger  to  threaten  your  friend.  But  it 's  hard  to  see 
you  annoyed  —  needlessly." 

"  But  it 's  not  a  manufactured  danger,  Mr.  Proc 
tor  !  I  'm  sure  it  is  n't.  You  must  listen  to  it. 
She  would  n't  tell  me  anything  definite.  But  she 
said  to  be  careful  about  going  out  at  night.  She 
would  n't  tell  me  whom  she  was  warning  you 
against  —  but  it 's  the  warning  itself  that  counts." 

"  It 's  Adrien,  probably.  I  thought  I  saw  him 
on  the  road  the  other  day.  What  a  splendid  child 
of  the  woods  and  the  wild  spaces  Ferdinante  is  !  " 
The  man's  breath  of  admiration  carried  him  to  his 
feet.  "  She  does  n't  know  how  to  stoop  to  a  sub 
terfuge  —  even  to  shelter  that  rascal  Adrien." 

The  cloud  that  Adrien's  name  could  always 
bring  fell  over  Katherine. 

"  I  asked  you  once,"  she  said  a  little  timidly, 
"  if  I  made  a  mistake  in  giving  up  Adrien's  friend 
ship.  You  did  n't  answer.  I  wonder  if  you  'd 
mind  answering  now." 

Mr.  Proctor  gave  his  absorbed  attention  to  the 
map-hung  wall.  This  girl's  unexpected  and  swift- 
vanishing  humilities  always  left  him  suspended 
between  his  impulse  to  tease  and  his  rush  of  long 
ing  to  tell  her  that  he  loved  her.  The  matter-of- 
fact  answer  that  he  dragged  from  some  underworld 
of  consciousness  came  slowly. 

"  I  don't  know.     I  'm  a  negation   about   most 


276  THE  LEGATEE 

things  now.  But  I  know  that  you  did  the  thing 
that  looked  right  —  the  hard  thing  —  so  I  've  con 
fidence  that  in  the  end  it  will  work  out  as  it  should. 
That 's  my  anchor  these  days,  Miss  Katherine,  — 
the  knowledge  that  you  and  your  father  have  kept 
your  belief  in  inherent  goodness  untouched.  But 
some  of  us  have  blundered  with  Adrien.  There 
must  have  been  opportunity  to  reach  him  ;  to  show 
him  his  fallacies  ;  to  convince  him  that  he  was 
right  in  the  beginning  —  that  education  was,  after 
all,  a  touchstone." 

Katherine's  eyes  sparkled  to  a  reminiscence.  "  I 
heard  you  tell  father,  once,  that  you  did  n't  be 
lieve  in  education  for  the  masses." 

The  man  tasted  his  share  of  embarrassment ; 
yet  that  was  the  least  of  the  many  inconsistencies 
that  Katherine  undoubtedly  had  seen. 

"  Everything  was  abstract  in  those  days,"  he 
laughed.  "  Now  it 's  vividly  concrete.  That 's 
the  influence  of  the  village  —  as  against  the  city. 
But  we  '11  reach  Adrien  yet  —  if  we  can  find  him." 

"  But  you  will  be  careful,  Mr.  Proctor  ?  You  '11 
promise  to  be  careful  ?  " 

He  picked  up  her  glove  again.  "  Of  course  I  '11 
be  careful.  Am  I  not  guardian  ?  Have  I  not  a 
ward  ?  A  stubborn  and  rebellious  ward  that  needs 
my  chastening  care  ?  " 

Katherine  looked  up  with  a  new  thought ;  she 
gave  a  little  laugh  of  private  understanding  and 
pleasure. 

"  You  're  Mr.  Cabell's  guardian,  too,"  she  said. 
"  Poor,  overburdened  man  !  " 


DAY  BY   DAY  277 

There  was  a  moment's  silence ;  and  in  it  Philip 
stood  beside  them,  summoned  by  his  name.  He 
seemed  a  palpable  presence,  laughing  as  ever,  as 
sured  and  debonair. 

Mr.  Proctor's  smiles  died.  The  happy  inconse 
quence  of  the  hour  was  over,  and  he  turned  away 
with  the  feeling  that  it  was  late,  and  that  he  had 
been  living  a  foolish  daydream. 

Katherine  rose  and  picked  up  her  hat.  There 
was  a  barrier  in  her  manner  that  irritated  them 
both.  They  remembered  that  outside  lay  a  dusty 
road,  and  that  they  were  tired. 

"  Mr.  Detiere  seems  to  be  trying  to  run  both 
mills,"  Katherine  said,  as  they  walked  toward  Birch 
Creek.  Her  tone  was  a  spiritless  effort  to  hide 
with  a  veneer  of  phrases  her  knowledge  of  the 
sudden  chill  between  them. 

"You  see  Detiere?" 

Katherine's  chin  lifted.     "  Frequently." 

"  Since  you  promised  to  stay  on  the  highroad, 
that  means  that  he  goes  past  the  schoolhouse." 

"  It 's  a  public  thoroughfare,"  Katherine  said 
impassively.  "  Mr.  Detiere  is  a  great  convenience 
in  maintaining  discipline.  He  stops  at  the  school- 
house  window  sometimes,  and  after  one  look  from 
him  the  children  don't  move  for  an  hour." 

Mr.  Proctor  bit  his  lip.  "  It  might  be  well  if 
you  shared  the  children's  prejudices.  I  wish  that 
you  would  not  consider  this  as  a  personal  matter 
between  you  and  me.  You  promised  your  father 
to  tell  me  if  Detiere  annoyed  you." 

The  sudden  flush  in  the  girl's  face  was  hostile. 


278  THE   LEGATEE 

"  How  little  you  understand !  "  she  cried.  "  Don't 
you  see  that  Louis  Detiere  is  eaten  up  with  pride 
that  he  can  carry  on  the  work  where  George  Cole 
failed  ?  He  owns  us  all  —  Your  mills,  my  school, 
Birch  Creek.  Till  this  is  over,  he  will  keep  sober, 
and  will  follow  your  wishes  to  the  division  of  a 
hair.  I  did  n't  say  that  he  spoke  to  me.  I  said 
that  I  saw  him.  He  does  go  by  the  schoolhouse, 
and  he  looks  in  to  see  that  all  is  well.  He  will 
never  speak  to  me.  He  has  a  code.  But  you 
will  never  understand." 

They  had  reached  George  Cole's  cabin,  and  she 
gave  Mr.  Proctor  a  long  look  as  she  opened  the 
door.  That,  with  the  briefest  inclination,  was  her 
only  farewell.  It  may  have  been  that  the  face 
watching  hers  did  not  encourage  civilities.  The 
two  had  forgotten  the  fiction  of  guardian  and 
ward.  They  were  man  and  woman,  and  they  were 
bitterly  angry.  Yet  neither  could  have  told  at 
what. 

As  Mr.  Proctor  untied  his  horse,  the  smoke  that 
hung  above  the  trees  was  beaten  downward  by 
the  wind  till  it  stood  like  a  wall  between  himself 
and  the  spot  where  Katherine  had  looked  good-by. 
The  sun  was  low,  and  the  black  woods  were  more 
than  ever  dreary.  And  Philip  was  at  Old  Point 
Comfort  for  a  week ;  his  last  letter  had  mentioned 
yachting  parties,  and  had  used  indifferently  words 
that  had  lost  meaning  in  these  grim  surroundings. 
Why  did  he  not  return  to  claim  his  own  —  if  his 
it  were  ?  Mr.  Proctor's  mouth  grew  resolute.  He 
would  end  this.  He  would  write  Philip  to  come 


DAY  BY  DAY  279 

now,  or  not  at  all.  For  his  own  part,  his  endur 
ance  was  at  an  end  ;  never  again  would  he  talk  to 
Katherine  till  he  was  free  to  ask  a  question  and 
be  answered. 

It  was  dark  when  he  rode  into  Wilsonport,  but 
the  straggling  street  was  alight  and  astir.  A  bon 
fire  was  blazing  in  the  square  before  the  church, 
and  its  leaping  light  showed  Paul  Livingstone 
preaching  to  an  attentive  group.  Mr.  Proctor 
drew  rein  in  the  shadow  and  listened.  He  could 
hear  little,  but  the  crouching  figures  of  the  lis 
teners  suggested  that  the  message  that  they  heard 
was  one  of  fear. 

He  rode  on,  his  heart  no  lighter  for  the  incident, 
and  Livingstone's  voice,  rising  now,  rang  after 
him,  "  '  The  sun  shall  be  turned  into  darkness, 
and  the  moon  into  blood,  before  the  great  and 
the  terrible  day  of  the  Lord  come.' "  As  he  lis 
tened  the  moon  pushed  a  blazing  disk  above  the 
line  of  the  smoke-hung  lake,  and  its  track  upon 
the  water  stained  the  night  with  red.  A  group  of 
men  took  courage  of  the  darkness,  and  cursed  him 
as  he  passed.  And  he  had  parted  from  Katherine 
in  anger. 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

THE   WAITING 

"  *  There  is  a  land  of  pure  delight, 
Where  saints  immortal  reign,'  " 

sang  the  people  in  the  square.  The  last  week  of 
September  had  come,  and  still  there  was  no  de 
liverance.  The  smoke  qloud,  heavier  every  day, 
pressed  its  black  weight  upon  the  village  till 
breathing  was  a  pain.  The  lake,  lashed  by  the 
constant  wind,  rolled  stormily  in  the  semi-dark 
ness  ;  steamers  blew  their  whistles  night  and  day 
as  they  groped  up  and  down  the  shore  line. 

Night  after  night  the  group  that  gathered 
around  Paul  Livingstone  swelled  in  size.  The 
schoolmaster  had  returned  from  his  lonely  days  in 
the  woods,  and  he  brought  an  assured  message. 
The  day  of  the  Lord's  coming  was  upon  them 
—  "  the  end  of  the  world  !  "  "  the  Day  of  Judg 
ment  !  "  Every  look  at  the  relentless  sky  drove 
the  phrases  nearer  home.  And  if  the  fire  was  the 
Lord's  will,  it  was  blasphemy  to  oppose  it.  Those 
who  believed,  prayed  and  sang  and  waited,  while 
Paul  Livingstone  moved  among  them,  assured  and 
calm.  The  visions  of  the  forest  were  realities  of 
which  he  spoke  with  confidence.  His  work  now 
was  to  prepare  his  followers  for  that  inevitable 


THE   WAITING  281 

day  of  which  they  had  been  told,  —  "a  day  of  dark 
ness  and  of  gloominess,  a  day  of  clouds  and  thick 
darkness."  The  words  were  with  him  always,  as 
he  pointed  upwards.  Could  they  doubt  ? 

There  was  little  of  terror  in  the  faces  of  the 
waiting  crowd.  They  were  not  only  awe-struck ; 
they  were  tired.  Life  pressed  heavily.  They  were 
bewildered,  rudderless ;  they  were  numbed  by  the 
smoke-filled  air ;  and  Karen's  voice  invited  them 
to  scenes  the  thought  of  which  filled  their  smart 
ing  eyes  with  tears,.  — 

"  '  Sweet  fields  beyond  the  swelling  flood 
Stand  dressed  in  living-  green.'  " 

"  In  living  green."     The  words  were  balm. 

In  the  mean  time  there  was  work  to  be  done, 
and  none  to  do  it.  The  lines  in  Mr.  Proctor's 
face  were  graving  deep.  The  fire  was  spreading ; 
how  fast  no  one  could  tell.  It  crept,  the  men  said, 
under  the  ground,  and  ate  into  the  heart  of  the 
great  trees,  till,  though  sound  to  the  eye,  they  fell 
in  blazing  ruin.  Birds  dropped  in  the  dooryards, 
burned  and  strangled.  There  was  none  to  tell  how 
far  their  flight  had  carried  them.  The  men  whom 
Mr.  Proctor  had  relied  upon  as  fire  guards  were 
growing  exhausted.  He  could  find  no  others. 

Yet  with  each  discouragement  his  responsibility 
deepened.  When  this  apathy  should  end,  when 
the  rains  should  come  —  what  then  ?  If  he  lost 
his  timber,  he  could  not  give  the  men  work.  The 
mill  problem  retreated.  There  had  always  been 
logging  and  coopering  to  fall  back  upon.  That 
gone,  what  was  before  them  ? 


282  THE   LEGATEE 

Not  all  of  the  village  followed  Livingstone's 
lead,  but  even  the  skeptical  were  immovable  when 
asked  to  help.  They  might  scorn  the  fear  of 
doomsday  which  held  their  companions,  but  the 
irresponsibility  which  the  thought  bred  was  con 
tagious,  and  they  became  openly  and  insanely 
careless  of  the  future.  Xavier  Lauzeone's  way 
was  far  from  rose-lined ;  his  politic  soul  was  torn 
by  much  that  passed  under  his  roof. 

There  was  no  thought  in  Mr.  Proctor's  mind 
now  of  sending  for  Philip.  All  personal  desires 
were  pushed  aside.  Life  was  endurance  and  wait 
ing.  He  went  to  Dr.  Griggs  at  last,  and  asked  for 
help. 

"  Talk  to  the  men,"  he  said.  "  They  've  been 
your  tools.  And  talk  to  Livingstone.  Show  him 
the  injustice  of  his  teachings.  I  'm  not  concerned 
with  his  religious  belief,  but  this  fire  is  threaten 
ing  all  of  us.  The  men  are  drugged.  You  've  in 
terests  at  stake.  Wake  them  up  !  Send  them  out 
into  the  woods." 

Dr.  Griggs  listened,  with  a  shrug  of  the  shoul 
ders.  It  was  the  first  time  that  he  had  talked 
directly  to  Mr.  Proctor,  and  he  would  not  put  the 
opportunity  by. 

"  We  'd  have  made  a  great  team  if  you  'd  come 
to  me  earlier,"  he  suggested.  "  Now  it 's  too 
late." 

Mr.  Proctor's  impulse  to  turn  his  back  was  con 
quered. 

"  You  're  shrewd  enough  to  know  that  your 
bread  and  butter  are  at  stake,"  he  said  curtly. 


THE   WAITING  283 

"  What 's  your  answer  ?  Will  you  help  me  with 
the  men?" 

The  doctor's  shoulders  again  cried  their  nega 
tive.  "  I  can't  help  you.  I  'd  stop  this  if  I  could. 
But  the  men  won't  listen.  Go  to  Mr.  Ellis  —  the 
parson  —  and  Heinrich." 

"  No  need  to  go  to  them.  I  'd  find  them  in  the 
swamps  —  with  their  hands  blistered." 

And  so  the  days  passed ;  not  in  monotony,  but 
in  fevered  happenings  small  in  themselves,  yet 
barometers  of  the  prevailing  unrest.  It  was  a 
day  of  the  unexpected.  Yngve  Torstenson  rose 
one  night  and  confessed  to  the  audience  in  the 
square  his  share  in  the  adventure  upon  the  light 
house  trail,  but  even  that  story,  new  to  some  of 
them,  made  little  stir.  An  attempt  upon  one  life 
seemed  trivial,  now  that  all  lives  were  in  the  bal 
ance.  Few  paused  to  wonder  that  Mr.  Proctor 
had  allowed  the  matter  to  slip  by.  "  God  is  jeal 
ous,  and  the  Lord  revengeth."  What  room  had 
their  hearts  for  fear  of  human  retributions  ? 

The  evening  of  the  5th  of  October  George  Cole 
drove  to  Mr.  Proctor's  door.  His  face  spoke 
calamity. 

"  What  is  it,  Cole  ?  "  Proctor  turned  from  his 
paper-strewn  desk.  "  Have  your  men  left  you  ?  " 

Cole  nodded  heavily ;  his  face  looked  dull  and 
set.  "  I  've  four  boys  left.  The  last  man  went 
to-day." 

Proctor  debated  the  matter  in  a  moment's 
silence.  "Have  the  boys  plough  a  wider  fire 
break,"  he  said,  as  his  shoulders  squared.  "  Then 


284  THE  LEGATEE 

place  them  as  guards  for  the  mill.  We  '11  win 
yet,  Cole.  Every  day  that  we  hold  out  means  a 
day  nearer  the  rain.  This  panic  of  Livingstone's 
will  end  with  the  first  northeaster." 

Cole  walked  to  the  window,  and  leaning  his 
head  against  the  casement,  looked  over  to  the 
square.  "The  men  said  what  was  the  use  of 
working  when  the  world  was  burning  up."  His 
tone  was  that  of  monotonous  acquiescence. 

Proctor  studied  his  superintendent's  bent  face. 
"  They  're  taking  a  drought  rather  seriously,"  — 
unconsciously  he  used  the  aggressively  buoyant 
manner  that  he  would  have  employed  with  a 
frightened  child,  —  "  but  this  will  be  over  in  a  few 
days." 

Cole  shook  his  head  moodily  as  he  resumed  his 
study  of  the  square,  and  Mr.  Proctor  checked  the 
further  exhortation  on  his  lips,  and  joined  him  at 
the  open  window. 

There  were  no  bonfires  in  the  square  now. 
They  had  not  been  needed  for  days,  for  the  glow 
that  filled  the  heavens  lit  the  earth  with  a  blood- 
tinted  radiance.  It  was  a  picture  to  banish  speech ; 
even  the  lake,  dull  red  and  sullen,  looked  a  thing 
of  horror.  The  night  was  unnaturally  still,  and 
in  the  hush  Paul  Livingstone's  voice  reached  them 
in  the  awful  warning  of  Zephaniah,  — 

44  4  Neither  their  silver  nor  their  gold  shall  be 
able  to  deliver  them  in  the  day  of  the  Lord's 
wrath  ;  but  the  whole  land  shall  be  devoured  by 
the  fire  of  his  jealousy  :  for  he  shall  make  even  a 
speedy  riddance  of  all  them  that  dwell  in  the 
land.' " 


THE  WAITING  285 

The  men  at  the  window  listened  for  a  time  in 
silence,  while  the  whistle  of  a  smoke-bound  steamer 
droned  accompaniment  to  their  thought.  Karen, 
her  white  dress  stained  by  the  red  of  the  sky,  was 
singing  now,  but  there  was  nothing  but  terror  in 
the  words. 

" '  That  awful  day  will  surely  come, 
The  appointed  hour  makes  haste.'  " 

"Do  you  believe  it,  Cole?"  Mr.  Proctor 
turned  at  last.  "  Do  you,  too,  think,  '  What 's  the 
use?'" 

Cole  looked  at  him.  "I  believe  it.  But  I'll 
keep  at  the  work." 

For  a  moment  Mr.  Proctor  knew  the  savor  of 
the  dust  of  futile  effort.  "  Why  ?  —  if  this  is  the 
end?" 

"  Because  I  promised  you."  Cole's  face,  still 
gray,  looked  dogged  with  resolve.  "  That 's  all 
that 's  left  us  now,  —  to  keep  the  promises  we  've 
made,  and  wait." 

"  And  wait."  Mr.  Proctor  murmured  the  words 
as  he  turned  to  his  calendar.  "  To-morrow  is  the 
6th.  Dr.  Edmister  won't  reach  here  before  the 
15th,  unless  news  of  the  fire  brings  him  earlier. 
Cole,  I  'm  going  out  to-morrow  to  bring  Miss  Kath- 
erine  in  to  the  village.  She  '11  be  safer  here  until 
her  father's  return.  Would  n't  it  be  well  for  your 
wife  to  come  with  her  ?  If  the  men  come  to  active 
revolt,  they  '11  probably  begin  at  Birch  Creek." 

Cole  nodded  understandingly.  "  I  know.  But 
Olive  won't  come.  I  've  talked  to  her,  but  she 
won't  leave  me.  I  'm  glad  you  're  coming  for 


286  THE  LEGATEE 

Katherine,  though.  There  '11  be  one  less  to  worry 
about,  and  I  think  that  she  '11  be  glad  to  get  away." 

But  that  was  a  thought  that  Katherine  laughed 
to  nothingness.  Mr.  Proctor  drove  directly  to  the 
schoolhouse  the  next  afternoon,  so  timing  his  ar 
rival  that  he  might  find  her  alone,  and  he  stated 
his  errand  somewhat  bluntly.  The  girl's  confu 
sion  at  sight  of  him  wounded  and  confused  him 
in  turn,  and  made  him  brusque.  The  memory  of 
their  last  stormy  interview  was  keen.  This  playing 
guardian  was  not  easy  work,  and  in  his  embarrass 
ment  he  said  as  much. 

The  girl's  lips  lost  a  little  color.  "  But  why 
make  your  responsibility  so  tragic  ? "  Her  tone 
was  almost  indolent.  "  Mr.  Cole  will  take  care  of 
me." 

"  But  Mr.  Cole  wants  you  to  go." 

"Does  he?"  Her  face  looked  suddenly  wan. 
"  But  Olive  wants  me  here  —  needs  me,"  she  said, 
brightening.  "  And  after  all,  why  should  I  go  ?  " 

"  Why  should  you  not  go  —  except  that  I  ask  it  ? 
Miss  Katherine,"  —  the  man  took  advantage  of 
his  height,  and  looked  down  upon  her  with  stern 
assurance  that  became  his  steady  eyes,  —  "  we  are 
talking  at  cross-purposes.  You  are  on  the  defen 
sive  with  me,  as  you  always  are  of  late.  I  don't 
know  why.  It 's  an  old  feeling  between  us.  But 
with  all  your  distrust  of  my  motives,  you  have 
given  me  a  certain  sort  of  confidence,  and  it  was 
the  knowledge  of  this  confidence  that  enabled  your 
father  to  leave  you  as  he  did."  He  had  been  form 
ing  his  sentences  with  scholastic  precision,  to  curb 


THE  WAITING  287 

the  words  of  loving  wrath  that  were  near  his  heart 
to  say.  Willful,  thorn-set  Katherine,  so  childishly 
annoying,  so  stubbornly  true !  The  longing  to 
catch  her  in  his  arms,  to  scold  her,  to  laugh  at 
her,  to  dominate  her,  gripped  at  his  composure. 
"  Lady  Katherine,"  -  —  his  voice  was  a  confession, 
—  "I  beg  you  —  it  is  n't  easy  —  come  with  me." 

The  girl's  lips  tightened,  then  slipped  from  her 
control,  and  quivered  pitifully.  The  man's  soul 
was  in  the  dust.  He  felt  that  he  had  trampled 
upon  her  without  mercy.  Was  it  the  thought  of 
her  father  that  had  broken  the  fine  temper  of  her 
self-command  ?  He  turned  away  to  let  the  situ 
ation  pass,  and  the  girl  set  her  teeth  determinedly. 

"  I  will  go  with  you,  Mr.  Proctor,"  she  said  in  a 
moment,  "  since  you  think  it  best." 

"  Don't  you  think  it  best  too  ?  " 

"  I  don't  wish  to  think  so.  I  ought  not  to  leave 
Olive,  and  I  particularly  dislike  to  give  up  my 
school.  Those  are  my  (  don'ts.'  Will  you  tell  me 
why  you  think  it  best  for  me  to  go  ?  " 

The  "  why "  seemed  insufficient,  after  all,  and 
he  groped  to  find  it.  In  Katherine's  presence  his 
imaginings  seemed  vain.  It  may  have  been  the 
magazines  upon  her  desk,  with  their  suggestion  of 
the  brisk  common-sense  world  of  affairs ;  it  may 
have  been  the  mounting  courage  in  her  eyes,  but 
there  was  that  in  the  atmosphere  which  relieved 
the  tension  of  his  feeling.  A  cluster  of  Olive's  red 
geraniums  was  tucked  into  the  girl's  belt,  and  the 
bright  blossoms  seemed  an  expression  of  Kath 
erine's  self,  —  a  challenge  to  the  stifling  air.  The 


288  THE  LEGATEE 

drought,  with  all  its  discomfort,  seemed  suddenly 
an  incident,  a  local  happening.  There  was  a 
world  outside  pursuing  its  unchecked  way,  and  the 
thought  of  it  belittled  the  importance  of  the  meet 
ings  in  the  square. 

"  If  there  's  trouble  with  the  men,"  Katherine 
was  answering  his  vague  objections,  "  I  '11  be  in  the 
way,  I  know.  But  so  will  Olive.  We  can  take 
the  white  horse,  and  drive  into  town  at  once.  And 
there  's  more  than  my  interest  in  the* school  at 
stake.  You  are  the  leaven  of  sanity  in  Wilsonport. 
You  seem  so  methodical  and  composed  that  you 
steady  the  people.  And  I  'm  of  a  little  use  in 
the  same  way  here.  The  men  have  left  the  mill ; 
every  one  is  on  edge.  If  I  desert  the  school,  it  will 
be  one  feather  the  more  on  the  wrong  side  of  the 
balance.  Can't  you  see  ?  " 

Yes,  he  could  see,  clearly.     He  acknowledged 
it  to  himself,  with  comradeship  in  her  pride.     But 
as  he  looked  at  her,  the  feeling  died.     It  was  not 
her  part  to  stand  alone,  and  he  rebelled  at  her 
sufficiency.     If  he  had  but  the  right  — 
"  Decide  it  for  yourself,  Miss  Katherine." 
The  tone  was  not  to  be  mistaken,  and  the  girl 
smiled,  with  a  tremor  which  escaped  the  man's  eye. 
"  Petruchio's  Kate  ?  "  she  said  a  little  wistfully. 
"  But  really  I  've  nowhere  to  go  "  —  she  hurried 
over  the  admission.     "  Do   you   think   we  're   in 
danger  from  the  fire  ?  " 

An  evasion  would  have  served  his  purpose,  but 
he  refused  its  shelter.  "  No  danger,  except  from 
the  smoke.  The  smoke  's  worse  here  than  in  the 


THE  WAITING  289 

village.  That 's  why  I  had  Cole  widen  the  fire 
break.  The  potato  field  is  guard  enough  so  far  as 
the  fire  's  concerned." 

"  The  smoke  is  trying,  of  course  ;  your  own  eyes 
are  beginning  to  show  it,"  -  —  she  gave  a  flitting 
look,  —  "  but  it  is  n't  excuse  for  running  away,  is 
it  ?  "  She  faced  him  with  sudden  mischief.  "  I  'm 
talking  to  a  man  who  is  running  his  mills  and 
conducting  his  business  as  usual,  while  half  of  his 
people  are  insane  with  fright,  and  the  other  half 
are  held  only  by  his  steadiness  from  riot  —  or 
worse.  What  can  such  a  man  say  to  a  woman 
who  is  trying  to  do  her  small  part  in  her  own 
way?" 

The  man  said  nothing  till  he  picked  up  his 
hat.  "  He  says  that  he  is  overruled  by  a  woman's 
sophistry."  He  held  out  his  hand  for  good-by. 
"  He 's  not  convinced,  but  silenced."  He  could  not 
keep  his  irrational  content  from  his  tone.  When 
the  air  cleared  between  them  it  was  ea:Sy  to  be 
happy ! 

He  was  driving  away  when  Katherine  called 
him.  Chevalier  was  whimpering  in  her  arms,  and 
she  held  him  out  with  an  apologetic  smile. 

"  Can  you  take  him  to  Bertha  ?  Ask  Bertha 
to  keep  him  shut  up,  please,  or  he  '11  try  to  come 
back  to  me." 

"  But  why?"  The  smile  died  from  Mr.  Proc 
tor's  face.  "  I  '11  take  him  with  pleasure,  but  — 
Katherine,  you  're  afraid,  after  all.  Come  with 
me.  Come !  " 

The  girl  lifted  her  head,  and  for  a  startled  mo- 


290  THE   LEGATEE 

ment  looked  full  in  the  man's  eyes.  The  glance 
robbed  them  both  of  composure. 

"  I  can't !  "  she  breathed  protestingly.  "  Don't 
ask  it !  And  I  'm  not  afraid.  Only,  Chevalier  is 
all  I  have  —  that  is,  I  'm  his  Providence,  and  — 
you  don't  mind  ?  " 

The  man  took  the  dog.  "  I  may  keep  him  my 
self?" 

"Oh,  will  you?  Think,  Chevalier,"  —  she 
covered  the  dog's  appealing  eyes  with  her  palm, 
—  "  of  all  the  chicken  that  Jessie  will  give  you  ! 
Please  hurry,  Mr.  Proctor."  She  had  a  whimsi 
cal  smile  for  her  own  weakness.  "  I  've  never  sent 
Chevalier  away  before,  and  he  won't  understand. 
We  don't  understand  Providence,  do  we  ?  "  The 
dash  of  philosophy  was  a  cover  for  the  mist  in  her 
eyes. 

The  man  tucked  the  dog  under  the  shadow  of 
his  coat,  and  lifted  the  reins.  Then  he  stretched 
out  a  hand  to  the  girl,  and  sought  her  eyes.  "  It 's 
very  simple,"  he  said  insistently.  "  Put  your  foot 
on  the  step,  take  your  seat  beside  me,  and  I  can 
save  you  from  discomfort  and  possible  danger, 
as  you  are  saving  Chevalier.  Can't  you  bow  to 
Providence  even  if  you  don't  understand  it  ?  " 

The  girl  shook  her  head.  "  It 's  only  till  next 
Friday.  Help  me  to  save  my  foolish  little  vanity 
till  that  time.  You  can't  monopolize  the  pride  of 
this  situation." 

She  watched  the  carriage  till  it  was  a  blur  of 
dust.  Was  it  imagination,  or  could  she  hear 
Chevalier  crying  for  her?  The  forest,  which  had 


THE  WAITING  291 

been  her  friend,  looked  sinister  in  the  waning  light, 
its  pillared  vistas  grim  and  murky ;  and  she  went 
back  to  the  schoolhouse  to  escape  the  crushing 
majesty  of  the  out  of  doors.  The  loneliness  of 
Nature  beat  upon  her  spirit  as  never  before,  and 
she  sat  for  a  long  time,  her  head  upon  her  hands, 
learning  a  new  lesson.  Pride  was  a  costly  posses 
sion,  and  it  was  not  for  women.  Since  the  whole 
loaf  of  life's  happiness  was  denied  her,  she  was  a 
spendthrift  to  throw  away  the  crumbs. 


CHAPTER  XXVIII 

THE    COMING 

THE  8th  of  October  dawned  with  a  splendor  of 
coloring  which  made  the  arch  of  the  smoke-filled 
sky  a  roof  of  shifting  opal.  There  was  little  wind, 
and  though  smoke  still  hung  above  the  woods,  it 
was  not  ribbed  with  glancing  flame,  as  it  had  been 
the  day  before.  A  chatter  of  bird  life  came  from 
the  thickets.  People  remembered,  as  they  had  not 
in  weeks,  that  it  was  the  Sabbath,  and  a  day  of 
rest. 

But  the  peace  of  the  day  was  not  for  Birch 
Creek.  Detiere's  men  came  back  each  week  to 
spend  Sunday  with  their  families,  and  this  day 
a  flag-decked  wagon  had  come  with  them  from 
Wilsonport.  The  crowd  that  filled  the  one  low 
browed  saloon  augured  a  quiet  day  for  Xavier 
Lauzeone. 

Olive  and  Katherine  sat,  their  thoughts  for  oc 
cupation,  waiting  for  nightfall.  It  was  a  tedious 
day,  gauged  even  by  the  standards  of  a  time  when 
all  the  hours  were  long. 

"  Keep  out  of  sight,"  Mr.  Cole  had  advised,  and 
had  followed  his  own  warning.  He  could  not 
check  the  men  ;  he  must  refuse  to  see  them. 

The  noise  from  the  saloon  subsided  at  last,  and 


THE  COMING  293 

Katherine  slipped  out  of  the  house  for  a  breath  of 
freer  air.  She  made  her  way  through  the  newly 
ploughed  fire-break  till  she  found  a  sheltering 
stump  that  hid  her  from  the  cottage.  Olive  and 
Mr.  Cole  would  think  her  in  her  room ;  she  would 
return  before  they  missed  her. 

She  sat,  her  chin  upon  her  palm,  and  strove  for 
gladness.  Joy  and  she  had  traveled  thus  far  de 
terminedly  hand  in  hand  through  somewhat  show 
ery  weather.  Why  should  her  grasp  relax  now 
that  the  sunrise  was  upon  her  ? 

For  it  was  the  sunrise.  It  could  not  be  else, 
this  moment  that  was  now  hers.  Her  father  was 
coming  in  a  week  ;  then  they  would  take  up  their 
life  together.  "  We  will  go  away  for  a  time,"  said 
his  last  letter.  "  You  must  see  something  of  the 
world."  She  had  hungered  for  the  world;  and  now 
she  was  to  see  it.  But  to  see  it  she  must  go  away. 
She  bit  her  palm  fiercely  to  subdue  the  pain  that 
choked  her  as  she  faced  the  thought.  The  physi 
cal  smart  gave  her  power  to  curb  her  dreams,  to 
fix  her  thought  upon  the  passing  moment. 

The  moment  now  gave  her  the  consciousness 
that  it  was  growing  warmer.  The  sun  was  setting 
in  a  mist  of  swimming  vapor,  and  as  she  looked 
down  at  the  settlement  it  wavered  in  crimson  light. 
Answering  color  glowed  in  the  growing  darkness 
of  the  forest ;  in  the  hush  which  held  the  air  the 
world  seemed  waiting.  Yet  the  wind  had  died 
away. 

The  girl's  breath  tightened.  The  rock  of  sanity 
of  which  she  had  boasted  crumbled  beneath  her. 


294  THE  LEGATEE 

She  had  seen  panic  in  others  these  last  weeks,  and 
had  marveled  ;  now  its  terrors  clutched  at  her. 
Every  familiar  outline  was  strange  with  menace. 
She  covered  her  eyes  from  the  picture. 

But  with  closed  eyes  came  fresh  terrors.  The 
breathless  air  held  whisperings.  To  her  diseased 
fancy  the  forest  rustled  to  hushed  footsteps.  Then, 
of  a  sudden,  fear  grew  concrete.  All  this  might 
not  be  fancy.  There  might  be  men  in  hiding. 
Adrien,  perhaps  —  and  if  Adrien,  why  not  others  ? 
Were  they  waiting  for  Mr.  Proctor  ? 

The  insanity  of  the  moment  claimed  the  thought 
as  certainty.  Dread,  which  she  had  checked  for 
weeks,  surged  over  her.  Mr.  Proctor  was  in  dan 
ger  —  somewhere.  She  must  go  to  him. 

The  madness  of  the  impulse  passed  in  time,  and 
she  rose  to  go  to  the  cottage.  But  the  road  to 
Wilsonport  beckoned.  Mr.  Proctor  might  be  on 
it  even  now,  coming  to  her.  She  wanted  him  ;  she 
needed  him  ;  he  must  know  it.  Unreasoning  as 
the  thought  was,  it  bent  her  steps.  If  she  could  go 
to  the  bend  of  the  road,  she  could  see  for  a  long 
distance.  It  was  dusky  now,  and  she  would  not 
be  observed.  One  look  would  cure  her  of  this 
folly ;  then  she  would  go  home. 

She  kept  in  the  shelter  of  the  timber  till  she 
reached  the  road,  then  walked  swiftly  and  silently. 
The  settlement  was  still  hushed  ;  the  lifelessness  of 
the  air  numbed  her  like  a  drug. 

She  had  reached  the  bend  when  a  rush  of  sound 
deafened  her.  She  looked  back.  For  a  long  in 
stant  sound  and  sight  intermingled.  Forest  and 


THE  COMING  295 

settlement  were  blackness,  wind,  and  flame.  Then 
she  fell,  face  downward,  in  the  road. 

The  road,  she  knew  indefinitely,  after  a  time, 
was  her  protection.  She  heard  the  grinding  of 
the  tempest  as  it  mowed  the  trees,  but  she  lay  un 
touched.  She  found  herself  thinking  calmly  as 
she  lay.  Fear  had  left  her  suddenly  as  it  had 
come. 

Seconds  passed,  and  the  maddening  noise  sub 
sided.  She  raised  her  head.  Her  eyes  met  black 
ness,  and  the  wind  beat  her  back  with  twigs  and 
stones ;  but  the  fury  of  the  whirlwind  was  over, 
and  she  stumbled  to  her  feet.  The  darkness  was 
smothering ;  she  put  out  her  hands  to  push  it  away. 
The  prayer  for  help  which  her  heart  framed  was 
an  audible  cry,  — 

"  Oh,  for  light !  " 

The  heavens  answered.  With  a  fresh  roar  the 
wind  leaped  from  the  side,  and  the  cross-currents 
opened  the  wall  of  black.  There  was  a  blinding 
glimpse  of  fallen  trees  on  a  flame-fringed  back 
ground  ;  then  darkness. 

As  Katherine  stood  a  moment  in  indecision, 
hands  touched  her  own.  They  were  a  child's 
hands,  and  with  a  cry  she  drew  them  toward  her. 
It  was  Leopold  Evard ;  the  family  lived  next  to 
the  Cole  cottage. 

"  Listen,  Leopold,"  —  she  wiped  the  tears  from 
the  child's  smoke-grimed  face  ;  —  "  you  are  all 
right  now.  The  danger  is  over.  Never  mind  if 
you  can't  see.  This  is  nothing  but  smoke.  Keep 
walking,  —  don't  turn  around,  —  and  you  '11  be  at 


296  THE   LEGATEE 

home  before  you  know  it.  Then  go  to  Mr.  Cole. 
Find  him  some  way.  Tell  him  I  am  all  right. 
That  I "  —  she  framed  the  first  deliberate  untruth 
of  her  life  —  "  am  in  good  hands.  He  must  not 
look  for  me.  Do  you  understand  ?  " 

Leopold  nodded.  He  was  a  quiet,  intelligent 
child.  Katherine  knew  that  her  message  was 
safe. 

She  kissed  the  lad,  and  led  him  a  few  paces, 
then  dropped  his  hand  and  turned  away.  Her 
face  was  set  toward  Wilsonport. 

Her  black  and  solitary  way  led  now  through  a 
land  of  evil  dreams.  Smoke  blinded,  breathless, 
she  went  on  and  on,  the  dust  beneath  telling  her 
that  her  feet  were  on  the  highway.  The  woods  by 
the  roadside  were  burning,  she  thought.  She 
could  hear  cries  of  animals,  and  the  crash  of 
branches,  but  the  rolling  smoke-cloud  wrapped  her 
steps  in  mystery.  In  time  figures  passed  ;  a  deer, 
screaming  with  terror,  struck  at  her  with  uncer 
tain  hoofs  ;  she  tripped  and  fell  over  some  small 
woodland  creature ;  but  nothing  slackened  her 
pace.  If  human  beings  were  near,  as  she  some 
times  thought,  she  could  not  help  them,  nor  they 
her,  and  she  made  no  outcry.  She  had  no  strength 
to  squander. 

Into  this  unreality  came  her  name.  "  Katherine 
Edmister  !  Katherine  Edmister !  "  The  call  rang 
clear  and  unhurried. 

Katherine  choked  back  her  answering  cry.  The 
voice  was  Louis  Detiere's.  In  an  instant  he  was 
by  her  side. 


THE  COMING  297 

"  So  ? "  He  swung  her  to  his  shoulder  in  one 
motion.  "  I  knew  I  find  you." 

The  girl's  lips  controlled  her  second  cry. 
"  What  do  you  mean  ?  "  She  wrenched  herself 
free,  and  slipped  to  the  ground.  "  Where  are  you 
going?" 

The  man  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  as  if 
to  his  great  lungs  the  smoke-filled  air  was  balm. 

"  I  knew  you,"  he  chuckled.  "  I  heard  little 
Evard  tell  Cole.  I  knew  you  lied."  He  slipped 
an  arm  about  her  waist,  and  turned  her  toward 
Birch  Creek.  "  Come  on." 

Katherine  stopped  ;  the  opposition  of  her  slen 
der  strength  moved  Detiere  to  fresh  laughter. 

"  Spitfire  !  "  he  said,  his  teeth  gleaming. 

They  had  drawn  near  the  side  of  the  road,  and 
the  fire,  licking  at  the  bushes  at  their  feet,  lighted 
their  faces.  It  showed  the  girl's  steady  eyes. 

"  You  are  very  strong,  Louis  Detiere,"  she  said 
quietly.  "  You  can  take  me  with  you,  and  I  can't 
help  myself.  But  don't  make  me  go.  I  beg  you. 
I  must  go  to  Wilsonport." 

Detiere  swaggered.     "  You  're  afraid  of  me." 

"  Oh,  it  has  nothing  to  do  with  you !  "  Her  com 
posure  broke  suddenly.  "  Let  me  go.  I  'm  wast 
ing  time.  I  must  find  Mr.  Proctor.  My  father 
left  me.  Mr.  Proctor  thinks  that  I  am  in  his  care. 
The  whirlwind  must  have  reached  Wilsonport. 
Mr.  Proctor  will  know  that  the  wind  will  spread 
the  fire,  and  will  try  to  come  to  me.  He  will  be 
burned  to  death.  It  is  my  fault,  for  I  was  proud, 
and  would  not  go  with  him.  Now  let  me  go." 


298  THE  LEGATEE 

The  man  whistled.  "  You  have  the  spunk !  " 
His  arm  still  pressed  her  toward  Birch  Creek. 

"  Look  at  me  !  "  Katherine  commanded.  Her 
eyes  claimed  his  through  the  flame-ribbed  shadows. 
Her  tone  was  now  as  calm  as  if  they  stood  together 
on  her  own  home  trail  upon  a  summer's  day. 
"  You  are  a  strong  man  ;  you  are  never  afraid.  I 
understand  strength.  My  father  taught  me.  I 
am  not  afraid  of  you,  for  I  have  watched  you. 
You  never  drink  when  you  are  working,  and  you 
keep  a  trust.  Think  !  If  you  were  a  girl,  you 
would  do  what  I  am  doing  now.  Don't  keep  me. 
Don't !  " 

He  hesitated.  The  flame  at  the  girl's  feet  had 
fastened  on  her  skirt,  and  he  stooped  and  beat 
it  out  with  his  hands.  Her  eyes  did  not  follow 
his  motion.  She  was  still  pleading.  "  Please  let 
me  go." 

Detiere  peered  at  her  closely.  "  You  want  to 
burn  up?  "  Then  the  kinship  which  the  girl  had 
claimed  seized  him  and  conquered.  "  All  right. 
Come  on.  It  will  be  hell,  but  come  on." 

It  was  the  girl  who  stopped.  "  But  you  must  n't 
go!" 

Flame  answered  her.  One  of  the  thousand 
whirlwinds  of  the  night  was  upon  them  ;  the  air 
boiled  with  fire,  and  they  covered  their  faces,  and 
fought  for  breath.  Then  wind  and  flame  moved 
on. 

Detiere  pushed  his  face  near  the  girl's.  "  Will 
you  go  now  ?  "  A  sudden  insanity  of  daring  crin- 


THE  COMING  299 

kled  his  face  with  laughter.  "  If  you  '11  go,  I  '11 
go." 

Katherine  nodded.  Her  smoke-rasped  lungs 
were  incapable  of  speech,  but  her  look  did  not 
flinch.  He  laughed  again.  "  Come  on." 

Walking  grew  easier  for  a  time.  The  wind, 
fickle  that  night  as  the  flame  upon  its  wings, 
veered  to  the  south,  and  through  the  lifting  smoke- 
cloud  they  could  see  again  the  glow  of  the  lurid 
sky. 

The  man  whose  pace  Katherine  forced  herself 
to  meet  timed  his  step  as  to  a  kermess  holiday. 
The  splendid  freedom  of  the  uncaged  elements 
was  in  his  blood.  What  was  fear  to  others  was  his 
intoxication,  a  delirium  of  riotous  adventure.  He 
boasted  fluently,  and  with  constant  laughter.  His 
huge  figure,  colossal  in  the  magnifying  smoke, 
seemed  at  times  to  Katherine  but  a  fantasy  of  the 
wild  wind  and  flame. 

He  stopped  at  last  and  looked  at  her,  his  reck 
less  glance  glorying  in  her  courage.  "  There 's 
a  cut-off,"  he  said  more  sanely.  "  It  saves  two 
miles." 

"  Let  us  take  it." 

Detiere  sobered.  "  All  the  world  is  cowards 
but  you  and  me.  If  we  die  —  all  right."  He 
turned  to  the  flame-bound  wall.  "  Take  fast  to  my 
coat.  The  trees  will  be  fallen  on  the  trail.  We 
have  to  climb." 

Again  Katherine  halted.  "  Please  go  back. 
Why  two  lives?" 


300  THE  LEGATEE 

The  man  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  laughed 
again,  but  this  time  grimly,  as  he  pulled  her  on. 

"  Proctor  is  n't  afraid  of  the  devil  either,"  he 
said,  as  he  crashed  into  the  forest.  "  He  '11  be  on 
the  cut-off." 


CHAPTER  XXIX 

THE   RECOMPENSE 

AT  six  o'clock  of  Sunday  the  8th  of  October 
Mr.  Proctor  was  leaving  his  house  in  Wilsonport. 

He  had  reached  his  gate  when  he  looked  up.  To 
the  south,  the  heavens,  green-black,  flame-belted, 
dropped  upon  the  forest. 

He  looked  but  once,  then  stopped  to  snatch  a 
blanket  from  the  house.  He  knew,  as  he  forged 
through  the  village,  that  people  were  screaming 
and  pointing  to  the  sky.  The  whirlwind  had 
passed  to  the  east,  but  the  flame  serpents  in  its 
train  were  crawling  to  the  zenith. 

He  was  beyond  the  schoolhouse  on  the  Birch 
Creek  road,  when  he  heard  Ferdinante  Lauzeone 
call  him.  "  Mr.  Proctor !  "  The  thud  of  her  run 
ning  feet  came  close  behind  him. 

He  would  not  stop,  but  she  pushed  her  strength 
and  reached  him. 

"  You  go  to  Birch  Creek?  " 

"  Yes.  What  is  it  ?  Every  minute  counts. 
Quick!" 

"On  foot?" 

"  Yes.     I  could  n't  get  a  horse  through." 

"  You  know  the  cut-off  ?  " 

"No." 


302  THE  LEGATEE 

"  Adrien  must  show  you.  It  *s  two  miles 
shorter." 

"  Can  you  find  Adrien  ?  " 

"Yes." 

They  were  walking  steadily.  The  man  turned 
his  head  now,  and  looked  at  Ferdinante  for  the 
first  time.  She  swung  beside  him,  massive,  leo 
nine,  her  long  stride  taxing  his  strength. 

"  How  did  you  know  that  I  was  going  ?  Did  you 
see  me  ?  " 

"  I  did  n't  see.  But  there  was  only  one  road. 
I  knew  you  would  go  when  the  wind  came.  I 
knew  you  would  get  to  Katherine  Edmister." 

He  accepted  her  knowledge  in  silence,  and 
walked  on.  Nothing  seemed  strange  nor  worthy 
of  comment. 

"Wait  here  for  me,"  Ferdinante  said  after  a 
time.  She  disappeared  with  her  words.  Mr. 
Proctor  could  hear  her  give  a  low  bird  call  as  she 
followed  some  unseen  path. 

Even  to  his  hot  impatience  she  was  back  soon, 
Adrien  with  her.  The  lad's  sullen  look  showed  no 
recognition  of  Mr.  Proctor,  but  he  pushed  by  the 
man  and  led  the  way.  No  explanation  stirred  Fer- 
dinante's  face.  She  followed,  watchful;  impassive. 

The  beginning  of  the  cut-off  lay  in  the  path  of 
the  whirlwind.  As  they  left  the  road  the  smoke 
grew  thick  and  sulphurous.  The  trees  which 
barred  their  way  were  even  then  quivering  from 
their  fall. 

Adrien  stopped  and  spoke  for  the  first  time. 
"  We  '11  be  choked.  I  won't  go." 


THE  RECOMPENSE  303 

Ferdinante  pushed  him  forward.     "  Go  on." 

"  Stop  !  "  said  Mr.  Proctor.  "  Unless  the  trail 
branches  I  can  follow  it  alone.  Is  it  a  straight 
path,  Adrien  ?  " 

The  boy  looked  up  through  lowered  brows. 
"  Yes." 

Ferdinante  laid  a  hand  upon  her  brother's  shoul 
der.  She  towered  a  head  above  him,  and  her  voice 
was  dominant. 

"  Tell  the  truth.  You  know  what  I  do  if  you 
lie.  Is  the  trail  straight  ?  " 

The  boy  folded  his  arms.  "  No.  It  forks  several 
times  in  the  first  mile.  After  Brandt's  clearing 
it 's  a  single  trail." 

Ferdinante  herself  led  the  way.  "  We  go  to 
Brandt's." 

They  fought  their  way  in  silence  for  a  time. 
The  fire,  which  seemed  the  spirit  of  the  wind,  was 
with  them  now,  only  to  vanish.  It  leaped  to  the 
ground  in  front  of  them,  its  shivering  flame  catch 
ing  at  the  twigs  and  grass ;  then,  torn  and  harried 
by  the  wind,  it  swept  from  sight  over  the  treetops. 
Still  the  three  went  on.  Adrien's  one  rebellion 
was  his  last.  Some  force  outside  of  Mr.  Proctor's 
ken  lay  in  Ferdinante' s  hold  upon  her  brother's 
arm. 

Through  all  his  terrible  anxiety  the  man  felt 
compunction.  He  begged  the  girl  to  take  her 
brother  and  go  back.  She  listened  unmoved. 
"  After  we  get  to  Brandt's,"  was  all  that  she  would 
say. 

The  trail  grew  more  difficult  as  it  led  deeper 


304  THE  LEGATEE 

into  the  forest.  The  animals  that  had  used  it  as 
a  runway  during  the  happy  summer  disputed  for 
its  possession  now ;  coals  and  charred  twigs  fell 
about  them. 

Mr.  Proctor  took  the  blanket  from  his  arm,  and 
threw  it  over  Ferdinante. 

She  looked  at  it.  "  You  brought  it  for  Kath- 
erine  Edmister  ?  " 

"I—    Yes." 

"  Keep  it."  She  crowded  it  back  into  his  hands 
with  unhurried  disdain.  "  I  don't  want  it.  Every 
body  does  things  for  her." 

"  Why  are  you  doing  this  for  her,  Ferdinante  ?  " 
Words  were  precious,  but  the  man  was  reckless  of 
them.  "  Why  go  through  this  misery  for  a  girl 
you  speak  of  in  that  tone  ?  " 

Ferdinante  looked  at  him.  Her  mane  of  hair 
was  loose  upon  her  shoulders,  and  she  looked  out 
from  it,  regnant,  wonderful.  Framed  by  the  flame- 
lighted  forest  she  towered  above  her  cowering 
brother  like  impassive  Fate. 

"Because  Adrien  must."  She  stopped  and 
spoke  with  deliberation,  as  if  the  time  for  expla 
nation  were  come.  "  Katherine  Edmister  does  n't 
need  me  to  like  her.  I  was  nobody.  I  never  had 
a  chance.  But  she  saved  Adrien.  He  went  by 
her  and  stayed  away  from  his  church.  He  would 
have  burned  in  hell.  But  she  sent  him  away. 
He  must  do  this.  It  is  right.  He  must  go  to 
Brandt's." 


CHAPTER  XXX 

THE   MEASURE 

BRANDT'S  clearing  passed,  Mr.  Proctor  went 
on  alone.  The  trail  was  well  defined.  He  could 
push  his  endurance  to  its  limit. 

At  first  the  sight  of  two  dim  figures  stumbling 
toward  him  meant  nothing  ;  then  the  woman  raised 
her  head. 

"  Katherine  !  Katherine  !  "  He  threw  Detiere 
aside  and  had  her  in  his  arms.  "  Katherine  !  " 

He  did  not  stop  to  question  the  miracle,  or 
answer  the  girl's  soft  cry.  He  wrapped  her  in  the 
blanket  and  turned  to  Detiere. 

"  We  're  near  Brandt's  clearing.     Follow  me." 

A  man,  running  blindly  from  a  side  path,  stumbled 
against  them.  He  was  whimpering  and  sobbing. 

"  Brandt's  !  "  He  caught  Detiere  by  the  sleeve. 
"  Take  me  to  Brandt's." 

"So?  My  little  friend,  Pierre  Gigot!"  De 
tiere  turned  the  man  around,  and  squandered 
breath  in  laughter.  "  Last  week  you  say  you  lead 
Proctor  by  the  nose.  Now  he  lead  you.  See  ?  " 

"  Don't  play  with  your  strength,  Detiere,"  Mr. 
Proctor  took  breath  to  say.  "  The  clearing  may 
not  save  us." 

The   clearing   was  before   them  in  a  moment. 


306  THE  LEGATEE 

The  smoke-cloud,  lighter  in  the  freer  air,  showed 
moving  figures,  and  the  night  was  torn  with  human 
cries.  Bright  coals  were  falling  in  the  open  field. 

The  men's  eyes  sought  each  other. 

"It  won't  do,  Detiere."  Mr.  Proctor  drew 
Katherine  closer.  "  We  must  find  higher  ground." 

The  people  huddled  in  the  centre  of  the  field 
were  from  many  scattered  farms.  They  gave  no 
heed  to  the  trio  that  approached  them.  Moaning 
and  crying,  no  misery  could  move  them  but  their 
own. 

The  Katherine  that  Detiere  said  could  not  know 
fear  found  herself  trembling.  She  had  drawn 
herself  from  Mr.  Proctor's  arm  to  save  him  from 
her  weight,  but  her  look  crept  to  him  for  refuge. 
No  terror  of  the  blazing  woods  had  beaten  down 
her  courage  as  did  this  nakedness  of  human  fear. 

Mr.  Proctor  was  begging  the  people  to  listen. 
Speech  was  agony,  but  he  did  not  spare  it. 

"  It 's  gas  that 's  burning,  and  it  keeps  to  the  low 
ground.  You  '11  be  smothered  here  —  or  worse  — 
before  the  night 's  over.  Better  to  die  quickly  in 
the  woods.  Pine  Knob  may  save  us.  I  know  the 
way." 

The  people  did  not  even  lift  their  heads.  A 
woman  laughed  foolishly,  and  played  with  her 
bright  beads.  "  Pretty  !  "  she  gurgled. 

"  Pouf  !  "  said  Detiere.  He  had  been  pleading 
in  Belgian  with  equal  unsuccess.  "  Take  her  off, 
Proctor.  I  '11  drive  these  pigs."  He  took  his 
suggestively  well-polished  sheath  knife  and  flashed 
it  before  them.  "  But  take  the  girl  away." 


THE  MEASURE  307 

Proctor  bent  to  Katherine.  "  Can  you  do  it  ?  " 
He  had  not  spoken  to  her  before  since  his  first 
cry,  but  his  hand  had  not  left  hers. 

"  Yes,"  she  looked  up  steadily,  though  her  voice 
was  faint,  "and  we  must  go.  We  hinder  him. 
He  can  drive  the  people  if  he  is  alone." 

The  man  suddenly  caught  her  to  him.  He  was 
unconscious  of  the  motion.  "  It  will  be  torture  in 
the  woods,  Katherine."  He  shook  with  the  an 
guish  of  the  decision  that  he  must  make  for  her. 
"  But  it  may  save  us.  It 's  death  here." 

She  smiled  up  at  him  and  brushed  at  a  coal 
that  had  fallen  upon  his  sleeve.  "  Where  you 
think  best." 

"  She  '11  do  it,"  Detiere  interposed.  "  Nobody 
is  like  her." 

Something  in  the  tone  stayed  Proctor's  eyes.  A 
thought  was  born  in  all  the  storm  and  horror. 

"  There  is  another,  Detiere  —  Ferdinante  Lau- 
zeone.  She  came  with  me  to-night.  Drove  Adrien 
before  her,  and  made  him  show  me  the  trail." 

The  Belgian  swore  softly  and  fluently. 
"  Where  is  she  ?  " 

"  She  went  back  with  Adrien.  They  took  the 
cut-off  to  Wilsonport." 

Detiere  was  prodding  at  the  men.  "  I  '11  drive 
my  pigs  that  way.  Take  your  girl  off."  His 
voice  was  electric  as  he  turned  to  Proctor.  "  I  go 
on  the  cut-off." 

The  plunge  into  the  furnace  of  the  forest  showed 
Mr.  Proctor  that  the  delay  in  the  clearing  had 
been  costly.  More  than  gas  was  burning  now. 


308  THE  LEGATEE 

The  ground  was  covered  with  blazing  twigs.  The 
man  drew  the  corners  of  the  blanket  under  his 
arm  and  half  dragged,  half  carried,  Katherine 
with  him. 

He  knew  that  she  was  trying  to  save  him  what 
she  could,  but  with  every  step  her  weight  grew 
more  inert.  He  stopped  at  last,  and  held  the 
blanket  as  a  screen  above  her. 

44  We  '11  make  it  yet.  I  've  seen  a  surveyor's 
map.  Pine  Knob  is  near  the  clearing  on  this  side. 
Look  at  me,  Katherine  !  " 

She  met  his  cry  with  an  effort  for  a  smile,  but 
she  could  not  answer.  With  the  first  groan  that 
the  night  had  drawn  from  him,  he  wrapped  her 
closely,  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  staggered  on. 

The  fire  was  everywhere  about  him  now,  trickish 
and  elfin.  It  had  a  thousand  sports  and  fantasies. 
It  throttled  him  and  beat  him  to  the  earth,  then 
leaped  away  to  hold  a  torch  for  his  bleeding  pro 
gress.  Now  it  closed  round  him  in  a  death-em 
bracing  wall ;  now  left  an  open  track  that  promised 
safety.  There  was  no  reassurance  in  its  lightness. 
It  was  the  frolic  of  the  fiends  of  torment,  and  the 
horror  of  it  drove  men  mad. 

What  came  from  that  time  on,  he  could  not  tell. 
He  fought  the  demons  of  the  night  and  conquered, 
but  how,  he  did  not  know.  His  eyes  seemed 
dancing  balls  of  light,  and  his  mind  wandered 
with  them,  but  his  feet,  sensitive  to  each  incline, 
found  their  way  upward.  The  trees  at  last  ceased 
whipping  him  with  fiery  brands.  He  had  reached 
the  foot  of  the  Pine  Knob  opening. 


THE  MEASURE  309 

But  this  was  not  the  end.  Pine  Knob  was 
steep,  and  the  way  rough.  Could  he  climb  it? 
The  stir  in  his  arms,  that  told  him  Katherine  was 
living,  was  his  answer. 

He  fell  at  times,  beaten  by  what  seemed  death, 
but  each  fall  stiffened  the  tried  metal  of  his  will, 
and  the  end  came.  His  feet  stopped  climbing, 
and  his  failing  sight  showed  him  an  open  field. 
What  reason  had  called  madness  had  been  done. 
This  was  Pine  Knob. 

How  long  he  lay  dazed  he  did  not  know.  The 
higher  air,  comparatively  smoke  free,  roused  him 
at  last,  and  he  stumbled  to  his  feet.  Katherine 
was  unconscious,  but  her  wavering  breath  calmed 
his  sick  fear. 

He  turned  from  her  to  look  below  them.  The 
knob  overlooked  the  forest,  and  the  man  who  had 
thought  that  his  mind  no  longer  knew  surprise, 
dropped  to  his  knees. 

Awe,  pity,  racking  sorrow,  anxiety  for  one  whom 
he  held  dear,  dread,  hopelessness,  and  torture,  — 
all  had  been  his  since  the  last  setting  of  the  sun. 
But  never  terror ;  that  reached  him  only  as  he 
looked  on  the  ruin  of  what  had  been  his  world. 

East,  west,  north,  south  —  far  as  the  eye  could 
register  —  destruction  met  him.  The  fire  was 
now  no  teasing  demon,  torturing,  then  sparing, 
that  it  might  torture  more.  It  moved  in  bands 
like  a  deploying  army.  Beautiful,  remorseless, 
calm  with  the  loneliness  of  death,  it  advanced  with 
battlemented  front,  and  the  forest  crumpled  to  a 
writhing  pot  of  flame. 


310  THE  LEGATEE 

Here  the  fire  wall  moved  slowly,  with  implac 
able  majesty  of  progress  ;  here  it  ran  more  swiftly 
than  the  thought  that  followed  it,  riding  the  wind 
in  serpenting  banners  that  twisted  toward  the  stars. 
But  everywhere  it  moved.  On — on —  Where 
would  it  end?  Hundreds  of  miles  of  dry  and 
close-packed  timber  lay  waiting  for  its  touch. 
And  the  homes  and  villages  between  ? 

Terror  passed  slowly  with  the  man,  to  merge  into 
dread  wonder.  Katherine  safe  —  from  this  —  and 
he  beside  her !  He  turned  to  watch  her  face  for 
reassurance,  and  trembled  now  as  he  had  failed  to 
do  when  death  had  grappled  with  him  for  her 
hand.  A  few  minutes  more,  and  he  could  not 
have  saved  her.  They  had  been  just  in  time. 

But  were  they,  after  all,  in  time?  The  doubt 
grew  —  grew  with  the  moments  —  till,  full-fledged 
and  conquering,  it  strangled  hope.  God  coveted 
the  living  world  that  night  —  man  —  bird  —  and 
beast.  There  was  no  ark  of  refuge  in  this  sea  of 
flame.  The  island  where  they  lay  was  so  far  safe, 
but  around  them  rolled  a  fast  encroaching  tide  ; 
its  plume-crested  billows  were  near  them  even  now. 

The  man,  who  watched  approach  him  the  death 
that  he  had  fought  for  hours,  lay  wrapped  in 
peace.  Death  had  no  weapons.  Majestic,  deso 
late,  it  beckoned ;  it  looked  a  respite.  Even  love 
was  dwarfed.  He  had  done  what  he  could,  and 
he  had  failed  —  failed  in  this,  as  he  had  failed  in 
life.  Death  would  bring  the  rest  for  which  his 
torn  and  aching  spirit  cried. 

The  clarity  of  mind  that  comes  after  long  ill- 


THE  MEASURE  311 

ness  to  the  dying  comforted  him  now.  He 
thought  of  what  this  sea  below  him  covered. 
What  love,  what  crime,  what  happiness,  what  sin 
—  all  wiped  away.  The  frenzied  beings  whom  he 
had  seen  that  night  —  all  silent.  They,  with  what 
uncounted  throngs  of  souls,  were  at  this  moment 
meeting  the  mystery  of  the  after  life.  What 
would  they  find  ?  And  he  ? 

How  trivial  it  all  looked  now,  —  the  strife  that 
he  had  thought  a  tragedy  the  day  before  —  the 
intrigues  —  his  vain  regrets  —  the  petty  strivings ! 
Yet  he  would  not  belittle  it;  it  had  been  life. 
And  it  was  over.  Master  and  servant,  they  were 
going  now  —  the  same  old  road.  Would  the 
myriad  feet  that  had  gone  before  them  have 
beaten  down  the  thorns  ? 

Beautiful,  invincible,  the  fire  wall  moved  on. 

Yet  with  it  all,  with  all  the  fact  that  he  had 
failed,  and  that  his  penance  came  too  late,  was  he 
not,  even  now,  most  blessed  ?  For  Katherine  had 
come  to  him  —  the  Katherine  he  loved.  How,  or 
why,  he  now  could  never  know.  But  the  fact  was 
his.  In  stress  that  broke  men's  reason,  she  had 
come  to  him. 

Flying  battalions  of  the  flame  passed  over  him  ; 
each  step  was  nearer. 

Why  not  tell  her  his  story.  It  had  lain  long 
near  his  heart  to  say  !  He  took  her  in  his  arms, 
and  let  the  words  that  he  had  smothered  for  a 
year  crowd  on  his  lips.  His  strength  was  failing, 
but  he  husbanded  the  wreck  of  it  with  care.  He 
would  complete  his  tale. 


312  THE  LEGATEE 

He  knew  at  last  that  he  should  fail  to  hear  her, 
even  should  she  speak.  The  pit  below  him  showed 
the  outlines  of  his  childhood's  home.  He  knew 
that  was  the  end. 

He  gathered  his  endurance  for  the  one  duty 
that  remained  him  —  to  wrap  her  yet  more  closely. 
Flames  were  about  him  now,  and  he  begged  of 
them  to  spare  her  face.  Then,  hiding  his  own 
face  close  to  hers,  he  closed  his  eyes.  Hje  was 
ready  for  the  morning  that  should  come. 


CHAPTER  XXXI 

THE  PKOMISE  OF  THE  COVENANT 

AFTER  oblivion,  instinct  came  to  show  him  that 
his  arms  were  empty.  He  groped  to  find  his  bur 
den  ;  he  found  himself,  instead,  drawn  back  by 
hands  that  met  his  own. 

"Hush!"  Katherine  crooned.  "Lie  still  a 
little  longer." 

Katherine's  voice  !  His  arms  went  out,  as  they 
had  done  many  times  the  night  before,  and  claimed 
her.  "  It 's  you,  Katherine  ?  Are  you  much  hurt  ? 
I  can't  see.  Tell  me,  are  you  much  — did  the 
fire"  — 

"I'm— almost  unhurt.  It's  you."  A  sob 
which  she  could  not  suppress  shook  them  both  as 
he  held  her  closely. 

"  I  don't  quite  understand.  But  your  voice  — 
Somehow  I  can't  see.  It  is  n't  daylight.  Or  — 
am  I  blind?" 

"  No,  no,  you  can't  be  blind  !  "  The  hands  that 
touched  his  face  were  tear  wet.  "  Your  face  is 
swollen.  It's  that  —  and  the  smoke.  It's  past 
sunrise,  I  think,  though  it 's  not  very  light.  It 's 
cloudy." 

"  But  the  fire  ?  " 

"It's  over.     The   ground  is  smouldering,  but 


314  THE  LEGATEE 

there 's  no  flame  below  us.  I  think  that  very  little 
of  the  fire  reached  us  here." 

He  released  her  slowly,  and  sat  in  silence.  His 
mind  could  hold  but  the  thought  that  Katherine 
was  alive ;  he  must  prick  his  brain  to  more. 

"  Katherine,  I  must  "  — 

"  Is  n't  it 4  we  must '  ?  "   A  hand  slipped  into  his. 

"I  — Katherine!" 

"Oh,"  —  the  girl,  who  had  crept  back  to  his 
arms,  trembled  with  sudden  sobs,  — "  did  you 
mean  it  all  ?  "  she  asked  brokenly.  "  All  that  you 
told  me  last  night  —  your  loneliness  —  your  long 
ing  for  me  ?  And  you  seemed  so  —  indifferent. 
If  I  could  have  known  !  " 

His  grip  upon  her  arm  brought  tears.  "You 
heard  me  ?  " 

"  I  could  n't  answer.  I  was  —  Don't,  don't ! 
I  'm  all  right  now.  Oh,  if  I  'd  had  more  strength 
I  could  have  saved  your  eyes !  " 

"  But  you  heard  me.  I  'm  waiting.  Be  —  mer 
ciful,  and  answer.  I  can't  see  your  face." 

The  face  that  he  could  not  see  turned  to  his 
shoulder  ;  the  look  that  he  was  giving  her  she  could 
not  meet,  even  though  his  eyes  were  sightless.  He 
did  not  need  an  answer. 

Yet  he  demanded  more.  He  was  a  man  —  and 
helpless. 

"  But  are  you  sure  ?  Katherine,  this  is  n't  to 
help  me  through  ?  " 

She  slipped  from  him  in  a  flare  of  indignation. 
"  Could  I  have  come  to  you  as  I  did  now  —  even 
to  have  saved  both  our  lives?  How  can  you! 


THE  PROMISE  OF  THE  COVENANT       315 

And  you  must  n't  think  "  —  Then  his  face  con 
quered.  "Oh,  do  you  care  like  that!  I  —  I'm 
afraid  that  I  care  even  more." 

Yet  it  was  not  a  time  for  caresses,  and  they  did 
not  need  them.  They  had  stood  with  Death,  and 
even  now  they  dropped  his  hand-clasp  with  mis 
giving.  His  touch  did  not  mean  separation ;  they 
would  go  on  together. 

Yet  with  the  gravity  that  wrapped  them  both, 
came  flashes  of  sudden  joy  that  they  could  not 
withstand.  Philip's  ghost  stood  with  them  once 
again,  but  now  his  look  was  gracious. 

"Yet  I  promised,"  said  the  man.  He  never 
spoke  of  that  again,  but  the  thought  died  hard. 
That  was  the  price  that  he  paid  —  the  aloe  that 
love  mixes  always  with  her  sweet. 

They  made  no  plans.  If  they  could  reach  the 
road,  they  might  find  rescue,  —  should  any  be  liv 
ing  in  this  world  of  doom ;  but  what  had  been  the 
forest  lay  hideous  in  smoke,  and  they  were  parched 
and  crippled. 

They  had  lain  silent  for  a  time,  content  to  let 
the  fact  that  they  were  side  by  side  speak  for 
them,  when  Katherine  started  with  a  cry. 

"  A  drop  of  rain !  "  The  words  sounded  like 
the  wandering  of  madness. 

But  it  was  true.  The  miracle  denied  for  weary 
months  came  now  as  softly  as  if  it  fell  on  fields  of 
waving  grain.  From  out  a  sky  of  even  gray  it 
dropped  in  slant  lines  on  the  hissing  earth.  This 
was  no  summer  shower.  The  redemption  of  the 
promise  of  the  covenant  had  come. 


316  THE  LEGATEE 

They  caught  the  blessed  drops  and  drank  new 
life.  Katherine  tore  her  clothing  into  bandages, 
and  bound  them,  water-soaked,  upon  the  man's  hot 
eyes.  Then,  hand  in  hand,  they  began  their  jour 
ney.  Their  fight  for  life  showed  promise  now,  but 
it  was  far  from  won. 

No  horror  of  the  night  had  prepared  them  fully 
for  what  they  were  to  meet.  There  was  little  tim 
ber  standing,  and  the  ground  was  piled  high  with 
logs  —  logs  that  crumbled  under  their  feet,  to  show 
the  red  of  furnace  fires.  All  life  but  theirs  seemed 
stilled.  Men  and  animals  had  sought  the  low  land 
by  the  streams,  where  the  foul  gas  meant  death ; 
and  when  after  a  time  the  wanderers  reached  the 
road,  the  apathy  of  their  own  approaching  end 
had  fallen  on  them.  The  steady  rain,  so  grateful 
at  the  first,  was  numbing,  and  their  chilled  frames 
lost  the  strength  to  nourish  hope.  Yet  they  were 
together.  If  they  were  found  in  life  or  death, 
their  faces  would  show  joy. 

The  shouts  that  came  to  them  at  last  seemed 
from  another  world,  but  life  sent  up  an  answering 
pulse,  and  they  gathered  forces  for  a  cry.  Paul 
Livingstone  answered.  He  came  down  the  rain- 
sodden,  steaming  road,  leading  a  mule  among  the 
fallen  timber ;  the  cart  that  rattled  after  carried 
food  and  blankets. 

He  stared  as  if  at  spectres,  then  fell  upon  his 
knees. 

"Two  alive!"  he  cried.  "Thank  thee  for 
them,  O  Father,  and  help  me  to  find  more ! " 

The  others  found  their  knees  for  that  last  cry. 


THE  PROMISE  OF  THE   COVENANT       317 

These  three  together  on  their  knees  at  last,  the 
horror  of  the  woods  about  them !  The  silence 
lasted  but  a  moment. 

"  What  news,  Livingstone  ?  I  know  your  voice. 
Quick,  man  !  Remember,  I  can't  see  !  " 

"  Some  reached  town.  You  're  all  I  've  found 
out  here.  Look  out  —  she  's  falling  !  " 

Mr.  Proctor  tore  the  wrappings  from  his  eyes, 
and  strained  for  sight.  He  could  see  a  little.  He 
gave  himself  a  moment  to  hold  Katherine  close  and 
make  her  presence  sure.  "  Tell  me  more !  "  He 
laid  the  girl  in  the  cart  among  the  blankets  as  he 
spoke.  "  Quick,  Livingstone  !  " 

"  It 's  what  you  see  —  north,  south.  The  land  's 
wiped  out." 

"  But  Wilsonport  ?  " 

"  Your  mill 's  burned." 

"  Yes,  yes.     But  the  people." 

"  Safe.     We  went  into  the  lake." 

"  What 's  being  done  ?  There  may  be  others 
alive  in  the  woods." 

"  There  are  two  teams  behind  me.  The  bod 
ies  "  — 

"  Hush  !  She  may  hear.  Take  her  back,  Liv 
ingstone.  She  's  light,  and  you  can  carry  her. 
I  '11  take  the  mule  to  Birch  Creek.  But  I  can't 
see ! " 

The  schoolmaster  scowled.  "  Go  back  yourself. 
You  can't  take  my  chance  away  from  me.  I  must 
go  on.  I  am  the  wickedest  of  men.  I  tell  you 
that  the  land  has  been  wiped  out.  I  told  the  peo 
ple  that  it  was  the  Day  of  Judgment.  If  it  had 


318  THE  LEGATEE 

not  been  for  me,  they  might  have  fought  the  fire. 
If  I  can  save  some  lives,  I  can  die  better." 
•  "  No  army  of  men  could  have  fought  this  fire." 
Mr.  Proctor  held  himself  upright  by  the  wheels 
of  the  cart.  "  You  can't  die  —  nor  will  I.  There 's 
work  for  us.  We  've  both  made  mistakes.  But 
this  is  a  reprieve.  Our  work  has  just  begun." 

"  But  this  is  ruin  !  " 

"  It  is  God's  ruin,"  said  the  other  man.  "  He 
needs  "  —  His  words  were  failing. 

Livingstone  helped  him  into  the  cart,  and 
turned  the  mule  toward  Wilsonport. 

"  And  you  believe  that  we  have  another 
chance  ?  "  Livingstone  asked.  He  looked  at  Mr. 
Proctor's  face  unbitter  and  serene ;  his  own  took 
new  resolve.  "  God  help  us  both.  I  '11  try." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

STEWAKDS    OF   THE   MYSTERIES 

THE  cart  that  jolted  into  Wilsonport  brought 
two  silent  bodies.  But  youth  is  strong ;  Mr. 
Proctor  and  Katherine  dragged  themselves  to  life, 
and  called  for  work  to*  do. 

It  was  the  doctor's  face  that  answered  them  — 
Katherine's  father.  The  tug  that  brought  him  in 
the  night  seemed  only  then  a  miracle.  Later  they 
knew  that  all  the  steam  craft  of  the  upper  lake 
had  plied  the  work  of  rescue. 

There  was  no  time  for  tears  or  explanations  in 
that  meeting.  Each  breath  might  mean  the  saving 
of  a  life.  The  doctor's  heart,  with  all  its  anguish 
of  pity,  held  thanksgiving.  He  had  come  in  time. 
His  defection  had  not  cost  lives  —  the  lives  of  his 
people.  His  hands'  swift  skill  meant  life  to  those 
he  loved.  He  thanked  God  humbly. 

The  news  came  fast  —  not  all  of  horror.  Some 
heights  of  human  sacrifice  were  reached  that  night 
that  held  the  hush  of  Heaven.  But  the  roll  call 
of  the  dead  grew  till  it  dulled  all  hearing. 

Birch  Creek  —  the  name  is  never  mentioned 
now ;  for  there  are  still  lips  left  to  whiten  at  the 
sound.  The  rescuing  party  made  their  way  there 
first,  but  they  found  no  survivors ;  and  when  they 


320  THE  LEGATEE 

looked  among  the  dead,  they  knew  that  this  was 
mercy.  George  Cole's  face,  hidden  in  the  saw 
dust,  was  untouched,  and  it  held  comfort.  His 
Maker  had  not  failed  him  at  the  end. 

But  life  could  be  lived  again,  and  as  knowledge 
of  the  majesty  of  the  destruction  grew  —  as  the 
far-spread  counties  of  the  Northland  sent  their 
tale  —  came  unexpected  healing.  The  world  that 
seemed  so  far  away  —  that  outside  world,  remote 
and  unregarded  —  stopped  to  hold  out  arms  of 
help  and  pity.  Brotherhood  grew  a  near  and  holy 
name  when  every  day  brought  succor. 

Even  smiles  grew  possible  —  and  precious. 
Courage,  with  sweetness  and  laughter  and  a  refusal 
to  look  backward,  —  these  were  the  weapons  for 
the  day.  To  all  who  had  looked  as  these  people 
had  done  into  the  mysteries  that  hedge  the  con 
fines  of  God's  world,  life  could  not  be  the  same. 
It  must  be  richer  even  if  more  chastened.  Char 
acter  might  not  be  created,  but  it  was  stripped  to 
its  elements. 

"  How  we  like  to  see  our  estimates  justified, 
Proctor,"  Dr.  Edmister  mused,  with  his  old  toler 
ant  smile.  "  Livingstone  is  a  distinct  gratification 
to  my  vanity  these  days." 

Mr.  Proctor  stopped.  He  was  unpacking  the 
boxes  that  the  world  had  sent,  while  Dr.  Edmister 
itemized  their  contents.  "  Livingstone  tells  me 
that  Heinrich  understands  brick-laying,"  he  said, 
with  frowning  absorption.  "If  the  material  for 
the  smokestack  comes  to-morrow,  we  can  begin 
sawing  by  Friday." 


STEWARDS   OF  THE  MYSTERIES          321 

The  friends  did  not  smile  at  the  transition  of 
thought.  It  was  of  such  varying  threads  that  life 
now  was  made. 

There  was  work  for  all.  Some  of  the  timber 
could  be  used  if  sawed  at  once,  and  logging  was 
pushed  in  every  hour  of  daylight.  The  warped 
machinery  of  the  mill  was  to  be  replaced,  new 
homes  built.  The  hours  were  too  short.  What 
ever  the  sorrow,  there  grew  in  all  minds  the  under 
lying  content  of  fruitful  labor. 

And  it  was  united  labor. 

"  I  heard  Yngve  lecturing  Mr.  Livingstone  and 
Karen  last  night,"  Katherine  said  one  day.  "  I 
could  have  thought  that  it  was  you,  Mr.  Kobert 
Proctor,  —  tone  and  precept.  '  Fellowship  ! '  '  Com 
munity  of  interest ! '  You  've  been  proselyting." 

"  Yngve 's  still  a  mirror."  The  man's  eyes  went 
to  the  girl's  in  happy  understanding.  "  The  sky 
has  changed  and  he  reflects  it.  That 's  all." 

Yes,  the  sky  had  changed.  The  fellowship  that 
Mr.  Proctor  had  striven  for  somewhat  consciously 
had  come  without  his  knowledge.  He  had  not 
time  now  to  recognize  or  classify  his  new  relation 
to  his  world ;  he  felt,  however,  that  he  was  work 
ing  with  his  friends. 

But  the  doctor,  looking  on,  smiled  tenderly.  He 
knew  it  was  not  the  tragedy  which  they  had  all 
been  through  that  had  wrought  this  new  demo 
cracy.  The  fire  had  wiped  the  slate  clean  for  new 
deeds,  but  with  all  its  meaning  and  majesty  it  was, 
after  all,  only  an  accident ;  the  transforming  forces 
for  this  regeneration  had  been  born  before. 


322  THE  LEGATEE 

ture,  the  doctor  meditated,  does  not  create  new  life 
even  by  cataclysm  ;  she  unfolds  what  was  there. 
The  trust  and  respect  now  given  Mr.  Proctor  were 
not  a  miraculous  flowering.  The  seeds  had  been 
sown  during  the  cruel  summer  when  there  had  been 
none  in  the  village  to  call  him  friend. 

Detiere  shrugged  his  huge  shoulders  at  the 
change.  "  I  knew  what  the  men  were  going  to 
do  if  the  fire  had  n't  come.  The  day  of  the  fire  I 
had  them  at  Birch  Creek.  They  was  drunk  — 
very  drunk.  They  told  "  —  But  his  story,  begun 
in  joyous  complacence,  ended  there.  After  all,  the 
men  had  been  his  comrades.  The  past  was  can 
celed.  Even  to  his  mind,  only  the  future  was  of 
moment  now. 

Detiere  was  a  hero  —  and  accepted  the  distinc 
tion  blandly.  It  would  be  long  before  the  tale  of 
his  entry  into  Wilsonport  that  night  could  be  told 
calmly.  Burned  and  bleeding,  he  had  driven  his 
cowering  band  before  him  out  of  the  flame-clouds, 
urging  them  with  knife  and  jest  till  they  reached 
safety. 

Dr.  Edmister  heard  the  story,  with  lips  hard  set 
not  to  show  their  trembling. 

"  Spectacular  to  the  last,  confound  him  !  "  he 
grumbled.  "  The  worst  of  it  is,  that  I  've  been 
wrong  about  him,  and  have  got  to  tell  him  so." 

Detiere  met  the  doctor's  proffered  hand  with 
perfect  comprehension. 

"  Too  bad  you  was  away,"  he  said.  "  You  would 
have  done  it  too.  We  are  alike,  you  and  I." 

The  doctor  looked  the  Belgian  over  with  con- 


STEWARDS   OF  THE  MYSTERIES          323 

sideration  —  a  look  which  he  forced  the  man's  bold 
eyes  to  meet. 

"No,  Detiere,"  he  said  slowly.  "You  are  a 
brave  man.  Here  is  my  hand.  But  we  are  not 
alike.  I  do  not  get  drunk,  and  I  have  all  my  life 
been  true  to  one  woman." 

Detiere's  complacence  ebbed.  "  But  that  is  the 
way  I  used  to  be,"  he  protested  almost  nervously. 
"  I  am  not  like  that  now  —  since  the  fire.  I  'in  to 
have  charge  of  Proctor's  mill.  Then,  when  Fer- 
dinante  "  — 

"  I  see.  You  're  not  half  worth  her,  Detiere, 
but  I  've  hope  that  you  '11  make  her  happy.  She  's 
had  little  enough.  And  she  needs  your  strength." 

"  But  she  is  braver  than  a  man."  The  lines  in 
Detiere's  face  had  learned  a  certain  softness.  "  I 
found  her  that  night  on  the  cut-off.  Adrien  had 
left  her,  and  she  wanted  to  die.  But  when  I  came, 
there  was  people  to  save,  so  she  came  with  me. 
And  now  she  makes  me  wait  because  Adrien  is 
dead." 

"  Have  patience,"  the  doctor  sighed.  "  She  is  a 
thousand  times  worth  it.  Leave  her  to  Katherine 
for  a  while." 

Many  things  were  left  to  Katherine  these  days 
—  so  many,  her  lover  complained?  that  she  was  at 
all  Wilsonport's  service  save  his  own. 

She  eyed  him,  after  such  remarks,  over  the  barri 
cade  of  a  chair  back,  and  her  mouth  had  new  curves. 
Had  he  once  said  that  there  were  three  Katherines  ? 
There  were  a  hundred  now,  and  each  one  demanded 
that  he  win  her  separately  and  ii*  turn. 


OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  ) 

o,  J 


324  THE  LEGATEE 

Yet  he  had  moments  all  his  own.  One  of  them 
came  one  afternoon  as  they  sat  together  on  the 
beach.  Indian  summer  breathed  sorcery  in  the  air, 
and  the  October  light  turned  the  lake  to  a  quiver 
of  rose  and  pearl.  The  scarred  forest  lay  behind 
them,  out  of  sight  and  thought ;  before,  were  only 
the  mystery  of  the  silent  water  and  the  spreading 
vistas  of  the  sky. 

"It's  going  to  your  world,  Katherine,"  Mr. 
Proctor  said,  as  they  watched  a  ship  sink  into  the 
silver  haze.  "  The  world  that  is  n't  to  be  yours, 
after  all.  That  hurts  sometimes.  I  had  hoped  to 
give  you  more.  It 's  a  poor  marriage." 

Katherine  covered  her  eyes.  "  Is  it  a  poor 
marriage,"  she  breathed,  "when  one  wakes  every 
morning  to  say,  'To-day  I  can  stand  near  him, 
watch  him  at  his  work,  help  him  —  a  very 
little'  "- 

He  had  her  hand  in  his,  and  the  clasp  that  he 
gave  it  answered  her.  Yet  he  would  not  be  stilled. 

"  Think  what  it  means.  You  wanted  life.  That 
was  your  pot  of  gold.  And  this  means  self-denial, 
work,  and  care." 

The  lengthening  shadows  shielded  Katherine 
as  she  crept  nearer. 

"  Add  love  —  why,  that  is  life,"  she  said. 


Electrotype*  and  printed  by  H.  O.  Houghton  &  Co. 
Cambridge,  Mass.,  U.S.A. 


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